LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

-I 

Class 


/ 


WOMEN    AS 
LETTER-WRITERS 


A   COLLECTION  OF  LETTERS 
SELECTED     AND     EDITED 

BY 

ADA    M.   INGPEN 


WITH  PORTRAITS 


London  :     HUTCHINSON    &    CO. 
Paternoster    Row        Jg        j£        1909 


PREFACE 

LETTER-WRITING,  like  so  many  time-honoured  institu- 
tions, is  becoming  a  lost  art :  it  seems  to  have  fallen  into 
disuse  with  the  quill-pen.  Formerly,  for  those  who 
were  separated  by  distance,  the  voluminous  letter  was 
the  most  usual  means  of  interchanging  family  news, 
thoughts,  and  ideas.  But  nowadays,  with  the  ever- 
increasing  facilities  for  quick  travelling,  the  necessity 
has  passed  for  the  old-fashioned  letter,  so  often  a  faithful 
record  of  daily  life  and  opinions,  and  time  can  no  longer 
be  spared  for  the  art  of  correspondence.  It  seems  un- 
likely, therefore,  that  the  present  age  will  produce  many 
such  letters  as  were  written  in  the  eighteenth  and  nine- 
teenth centuries. 

Literary  men  have  been  justly  famous  for  their 
correspondence,  but  women,  with  a  few  brilliant  excep- 
tions, have  not  taken  a  foremost  place  in  the  ranks  of 
great  letter-writers.  If  women's  letters,  however,  have 
not  the  style,  lucidity  of  thought,  nor,  generally  speak- 
ing, the  descriptive  powers  of  literary  men,  they  do 
possess  characteristics  and  a  charm  of  their  own  ;  they 
are  frequently  unstudied,  written  on  any  subject  of 


197876 


iv  PREFACE 

momentary  interest,  and  often  with  a  feminine  touch  of 
humour.  It  is  true  that  women  cannot  boast  of  a 
Johnson,  a  Cowper,  a  Byron,  or  a  FitzGerald ;  they 
can,  however,  lay  claim  to  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu, 
Mrs.  Elizabeth  Montagu,  Margaret  Fuller,  and  Elizabeth 
Barrett  Browning. 

Lady  Mary  was  well  aware  of  her  gifts  for  letter- 
writing,  as  we  are  told  she  requested  one  of  her  corre- 
spondents to  preserve  her  letters,  predicting  that  they 
would  in  the  future  be  well  known  and  widely  read. 
Although  the  letters  of  literary  women  predominate 
in  the  present  collection,  it  is  not  primarily  intended 
to  comprise  those  of  literary  women  alone,  but  to  con- 
stitute a  representative  selection  of  women's  corre- 
spondence, drawn  from  old  and  modern  sources.  With 
one  or  two  exceptions,  the  writers  of  these  letters 
attained  fame,  but  all,  I  venture  to  think,  deserve  to 
be  remembered. 

The  owners  of  copyrights  have  very  generously 
allowed  me  to  include  many  letters  in  my  selection  ; 
and  although  I  have  acknowledged  their  permissions  in 
every  case,  in  notes  printed  with  the  extracts,  it  is 
a  pleasure  to  express  my  hearty  thanks,  and  to  repeat 
that  my  indebtedness  is  due  to  the  following  :  His 
Honour  Judge  Parry,  for  Dorothy  Osborne  ;  Mr.  Percy 
Fitzgerald,  for  Kitty  Clive ;  Mrs.  Butler,  Mr.  A.  E. 
Edge  worth,  and  Professor  Edge  worth,  for  Maria  Edge- 
worth  ;  Mrs.  C.  Bodham  Johnson  and  Messrs.  Jarrold  & 


PREFACE  v 

Sons,  for  Lady  Hesketh  ;  Messrs.  Kegan  Paul,  Trench, 
Triibner  &  Co.,  for  Ann  Godwin  and  Sara  Coleridge  ; 
Mr.  W.  C.  Hazlitt  for  Mary  Lamb  ;  Professor  William 
Knight,  for  Dorothy  Wordsworth  ;  Mr.  John  Murray  for 
Susan  Ferrier ;  Messrs.  Macmillan  &  Co.,  Ltd.,  for 
Jane  Austen,  Fanny  Kemble,  and  Mary  Russell  Mitford  ; 
Sir  Isaac  Pitman  &  Sons,  Ltd.,  for  Mary  Howitt ;  Messrs. 
Smith,  Elder  &  Co.,  for  Joanna  Baillie  and  Harriet 
Martineau  ;  Mr.  Alexander  Carlyle  and  Messrs.  Long- 
mans, Green  &  Co.,  for  Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  ;  Mr.  Clement 
Shorter,  for  Charlotte  Bronte  ;  Mrs.  Janet  Ross,  for  Sarah 
Austin  ;  Messrs.  Sampson  Low,  Marston  &  Co.,  Ltd., 
for  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  ;  Messrs.  W.  Blackwood  & 
Sons,  for  Agnes  Strickland  ;  Messrs.  Longmans,  Green 
&  Co.,  for  Anne  Jameson  ;  Mr.  J.  W.  Cross,  for  George 
Eliot ;  and  Mr.  William  Michael  Rossetti  for  Christina 
Rosseiti. 

A.  M.  I. 

October  1909. 


CONTENTS 

MARGARET    PASTON 

Fifteenth-century     gossip     (i)—A     mother's     admonitions      (3)— Matrimonial 
advice  (5). 

ANNE   BOLEYN    (1502-7-1536) 

A  royal  love  letter  (6). 

MARY    QUEEN    OF   SCOTS    (1542-1587) 

The  present  (8)— A  heavy  imprisonment  (9)—  Feathered  friends  (12). 

QUEEN    ELIZABETH    (1533-1803) 

An  early  love  affair  (12)—  An  apology  (13)— The  Queen's  condolences  (15)— 4 
royal  command  (16). 

DOROTHY    OSBORNE    (1627-1695) 

Diary  of  a  day  (16) — A  love-letter  (20). 

LADY   RACHEL    RUSSELL   (1636-1728) 

The  evening  letter  (25) — The  son  and  heir  (26). 

LADY   MARY   WORTLEY   MONTAGU   (1689-1762) 

Visits  to  the  Harem  (28) — Dining  with  the  Sultana  (35) — The  education  of 
children  (44). 

ESTHER   VANHOMRIGH  ("VANESSA")    (1690-1723) 

Vtnessa's  love-letters  (48). 

A.   G.   (AN   EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY    MAID-SERVANT) 

The  Westminster  fox  (51) — Hot  weather  recipes  (52). 

ELIZABETH   MONTAGU    (1720-1800) 

Matrimonial    prospects    (56) — Conversation    at    Bath    (58) — A  matrimonial 

homily    (59) — A    country   excursion    (62) — Taking  the   cure  (66) — Public 
spectacles  (67). 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

MARY    DELANY   (1700-1788) 

The  coronation  (68) — Mr.  Pope's  accident  (71) — Domestic  remedies  (73) — An 
eighteenth-century  garden  (73) — The  fat  of  the  land  (76) — Sedan-chair 
dangers  (76) — Early  depravity  (77) — Current  fashions  (79) — The  whole 
duty  of  woman  (80). 

ELIZABETH    CARTER    (1717-1806) 

Rural  society  (82) — "Joseph  Andrews"  (84) — Swift  (84) — French  fashions 
(85) — Curious  entertainments  (86) — A  Newgate  mob  (86) — Words  of 
prophecy  (89). 

HESTER    CHAPONE    (1727-1801) 

Richardson  and  Fielding  (90) — Travelling  companions  (92) — The  invitation 
(94). 

HESTER   LYNCH   PIOZZI   (MRS.  THRALE)   (1741-1821) 

Feminine  blandishments  (96) — Human  finger-posts  (98) — Gossip  from  Bright- 
helmstone  (101) — An  evening  at  Mrs.  Montagu's  (105) — Confessions  and 
reflections  (107). 

ANNA   LETITIA   BARBAULD    (1743-1825) 

The  new  baby  (in) — Foreign  customs  (113) — For  and  against  (115) — A  tragedy 
("7). 

CATHERINE    CLIVE    (1711-1785) 

An  appreciation  (119) — Player  v.  Manager  (120) — Jealousy  (i22}—Multum 
in  parvo  (123). 

HANNAH   MORE    (1745-1833) 

Garr ick's  funeral  (124) — General  Paoli  (127) — Spiritual  privileges  in  Somerset 
*j     (129). 

ANNA   SEWARD   (1747-1800) 

Last  days  of  Dr.  Johnson  (132) — An  elegant  epistle  (133) — An  old  maid  (136). 

FRANCES   BURNEY   (MADAME   D'ARBLAY)    (1752-1840) 

Taking  tea  with  Dr.  Johnson  (130) — Court  etiquette  (141) — Her  Majesty's 
chickens  (144) — Dorset  loyalty  (145) — Fanny  Burney's  marriage  (147) — 
An  operation  (148). 

LADY   HAMILTON   (EMMA   HART)    (1763-1815) 

The  Bacchante  (152) — A  visit  to  the  convent  (155) — Nelson  at  Naples  (158) — 
The  last  letter  (161). 

HELEN   MARIA    WILLIAMS   (1762-1827) 

Sight-seeing  during  the  Revolution  (162) — A  visit  to  the  Bastille  (165), 


CONTENTS  ix 

MARY   WOLLSTONECRAFT   (GODWIN)    (1759-1797) 

The  last  journey  of  Louis  XVI.  (170)— Absence  (172)— Little  Fanny  (173)— 
Impressions  of  Norway  (174). 

SARAH   SIDDONS    (1755-1831) 

Her  would-be  Biographer  (178)— Readings  at  Windsor  Cast'e  (179)- 

MARIA   EDGEWORTH.   (1767-1849) 

A  letter  of  congratulation  (183)— Celebrities  at  Paris  (iS6)—The  Baillics'  cat 
(189) — Mrs.  Siddons's  reminiscences  (191). 

HARRIET,  LADY   HESKETH   (1733-1807) 

William  Cowper  (193)— Reading  to  Cowper  (196)— Advice  to  the  lean  (200). 

SYDNEY  OWENSON  (LADY  MORGAN)  (1780-1859) 

The  painted  pigeon  (202) — The  whiskers  (205) — Irish  lore  (206) — Getting  strait :H 
(207) — Britishers  abroad  (209) — The  Bonaparte  family  (211) — Impressions 
of  St.  Peter's  (213) — Paganini's  love-story  (216). 

AMELIA    OPIE    (1789-1853) 

John  Opie's  proposal  (2iS)—Opie  and  his  studio  (221)—  First  Consul  Buona- 
parte (223). 

LUCY    AIKIN    (1781-1864) 

Women's  rights  (229) — Trafalgar  (232) — Nelson's  funeral  (233) — Dining  with 
Scott  (236)— Bathing  at  Brighton  (239)— Seeing  Queen  Charlotte  (241)— 
The  Ettrick  Shepherd's  debut  (243) — Mrs.  Piozzi,  at.  79  (245) — The  British 
Museum  in  1833  (245) — Women  and  votes  (247) — The  inequality  of  man 
(248). 

ANN    GODWIN    (d.    1809) 

Family  news  (251) — Sitting  under  Mr.  Sykes  (253). 

JANE    TAYLOR   (1783-1824) 
Time  and  temperament  (256) — The  cultured  housewife  (257>, 

MARY   LAMB    (1764-1847) 

Mary  Lamb's  gossip  (260) — "Tales  from  Shakespeare"  (264) — Charles  Lamb 
and  his  study  (268). 

ANGELICA   KAUFFMANN,  R.A.   (1741-1807) 

Ruins  at  Tivoli  (273) — A  holiday  letter  (274). 

DOROTHY    WORDSWORTH   (1771-1855) 

Naming  the  baby  (275) — The  present  of  books  (278). 

SUSAN   FERRIER   (1792-1854) 

Town  or  country  (280) — A  dog  story  (282) — The  new  cook  (285) — The  choice  of 
two  evils  (287). 

b 


x  CONTENTS 

ELIZABETH   INCHBALD   (1753-1321) 

The  fire  (289) — A  week's  dietary  (290) — A  self-contained  flat  (291). 

MARJORY    FLEMING    (1803-1811) 

A  child's  correspondence  (292). 

JANE    AUSTEN   (1775-1817) 

"  Pride  and  Prejudice"  (294) — Royal  appreciation  (295). 

MARY   RUSSELL   MITFORD    (1787-1855) 

Wordsworth  and  the  simple  life  (297) — An  artist's  egotism  (299) — Edward 
Irving  (301) — A  prophecy  of  fame  (303). 

MARY   WOLLSTONECRAFT   SHELLEY   (1797-1851) 

Life  at  Leghorn  (305) — The  death  of  Shelley  (308). 

LADY    ANN   BARNARD  (1750-1825) 

Auld  Robin  Gray  (314). 

MARY    HOWITT    (1799-1888) 

Byron's  death  and  funeral  (319) — The  visit  to  London  (322) — The  taste  of  a 
Quakeress  (323) — "  Of  Many  Books"  (325) — The  reception  at  the  Vatican 
(326). 

LADY   CAROLINE    LAMB    (1785-1828) 
"The  Pilgrim  of  Eternity"  (329) — Retrospection (331). 

FELICIA   DOROTHEA   REMANS   (1793-1835) 

Sir  Walter  Scott  (334)— Wordsworth  (337)— Paganini  (338). 

JOANNA   BAILLIE   (1762-1851) 

Friendly  criticism  (343). 

HARRIET    MARTINEAU    (1802-1876) 

The  future  of  women  (345). 

SARA   COLERIDGE    (1802-1852) 

A  mother's  portrait  (346) — Women  and  books  (349). 

JANE    WELSH    CARLYLE    (1801-1866) 

New  fashions  (350) — A  poet's  privileges  (351) — The  delayed  letter  (353) — Home 
dressmaking  (355). 

COUNTESS   OF   BLESSINGTON   (1789-1849) 

Friendship  (358). 


CONTENTS  xi 


ELIZABETH   CLEGHORN    GASKELL    (1810-1865) 

Charlotte  Bronte  at  Haworth  (360). 

LUCIE,  LADY   DUFF-GORDON  (1821-1869) 

An  Eastern  ceremony  (363)— On  illustrating  (365)—  English  ladies  (367) 

CHARLOTTE   BRONTE    (1816-1855) 

The  poet's  warning  (371)— On  her  first  offer  of  marriage  (373)—"  Esmond  " 
(373) — A  visit  to  her  publisher  (375). 

SARAH    AUSTIN    (1793-1867) 

Ships  at  Malta  (380)—  Hot-weather  attire  (383). 

SARAH   MARGARET    FULLER    (MARCHIONESS    OSSOLI)    (1810-1850) 

Fanny  Kemble  (385)— To  the  spirit  of  the  master  (387)—^  pen-picture  of 
Carlyle  (389)—  Carlyle's  conversation  (393)—  George  Sand  (wtf—Rachael 
(398) — The  baby  (400) — A  farewell  (401). 

LADY    HESTER   STANHOPE    (1776-1889) 

A  royal  visitor  (402) — Plain  speaking  (404). 

HARRIET   BEECHER   STOWE    (1811-1896) 

A  day's  work  (405) — Reminiscences  (408) — Charles  Kingsley  at  home  (411) — 
The  glamour  of  Rome  (413) — The  beauties  of  Florida  (414). 


AGNES    STRICKLAND    (1796-1874) 

(417) — A   Scotch  wedding  (419) — He 
King  Edward  VII.  (424) — Queen  Alexandra  (425). 


The  drawing-room  (417) — A   Scotch  wedding  (419) — Holiday-making  (422)  — 
"'       ~-        'VII.  (424)— Q 


ANNA   JAMESON   (1794-1860) 

The  tendrils  of  life  (426). 

FANNY    KEMBLE    (1809-1893) 

Privileges  of  childhood  (429) — A  presentation  at  court  (430) — Characteristics  of 
Macready  (432) — Macready  again  (434). 

ELIZABETH   BARRETT   BROWNING    (1806-1861) 

On  "  Aurora  Leigh"  (436). 

GEORGE   ELIOT  (Mary  Ann  Evans)   (1819-1880) 

Spanish  scenery  (438). 

CHRISTINA   ROSSETTI   (1830-1894) 

The  Dante  picture  (441) — Swinburne  (442). 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FANNY  BURNEY      .         .         .          Photogravure   Frontispiec 

FACING  PAG 

MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS 

LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU -2 

HESTER  LYNCH  PIOZZI 9 

MARY  WOLLSTONECRAFT 17 

AMELIA  OPIE 21 

JANE  WELSH  CARLYLE -35 

CHARLOTTE  BRONTE -37 

FANNY  KEMBLE 42 


Women  as  Letter  Writers 


MARGARET  PASTON 

"  THE  Pas  ton  Letters,"  so  called,  is  a  collection  of 
correspondence  written  between  the  years  1424  and  1506, 
by  a  family  of  that  name,  belonging  to  the  village  of 
Paston  in  Norfolk.  The  letters,  which  are  invaluable  for 
the  light  that  they  shed  on  domestic  affairs  of  the  period, 
were  first  published  by  Sir  John  Fenn  in  1787,  and  have 
since  been  edited,  in  a  scholarly  edition,  by  Mr.  James  Gairdner. 
It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  the  letters  of  Margaret  Paston 
are  among  the  best  in  the  collection.  The  letters  printed 
below  are  from  the  selection  of  the  correspondence  edited 
by  A.  Ramsay,  who  modernised  the  spelling. 


To  my  right  worshipful  husband,  John  Paston,  be  this 
delivered  in  Haste 

L.,  .  NORWICH,  Thursday,  July  i,  1451. 

FIFTEENTH-CENTURY   GOSSIP 

RIGHT  WORSHIPFUL  HUSBAND — I  recommend  me  to 
you,  desiring  heartily  to  hear  of  your  welfare.  ...  I  was 
at  Topps'  at  dinner  on  St.  Peter's  day  :  there  my 


2  MARGARET    PASTON 

Lady  Felbrigg  and  other  gentlewomen  desired  to  have 
had  you  there  ;  they  said  they  should  all  have  been 
the  merrier  if  ye  had  been  there.  My  cousin  Topps 
hath  much  care  till  she  hears  good  tidings  of  her  brother's 
matter  ;  she  told  me  that  they  should  keep  a  day  on 
Monday  next  coming  betwixt  her  brother  and  Sit 
Andrew  Hugard  and  Wyndham.  I  pray  you  send 
me  word  how  they  speed,  and  how  ye  speed  in  your 
own  matters  also. 

Also,  I  pray  you  heartily  that  ye  will  send  me  a 
pot  with  treacle  in  haste,  for  I  have  been  right  evil 
at  ease  and  your  daughter  both  since  that  ye  yeden 
[went]  hence,  and  one  of  the  tallest  young  men  of  this 
parish  lyeth  sick,  and  hath  a  great  myrr  [murrain  /] 
how  he  shall  do  God  knoweth. 

I  have  sent  my  Uncle  Berney  the  pot  with  treacle 
that  ye  did  buy  for  him  ;  mine  aunt  recommendeth 
her  to  you,  and  prayeth  you  to  do  for  her  as  the  bill 
maketh  mention  of  that  I  send  you  with  this  letter, 
and  as  ye  think  best  for  to  do  therein.  Sir  Harry 
Inglos  is  passed  to  God  this  night,  whose  soul  God 
assoil ;  and  was  carried  forth  this  day  at  nine  of  the 
clock  to  St.  Faith's,  and  there  shall  be  buried. 

If  ye  desire  to  buy  any  of  his  stuff,  I  pray  you  send 
me  word  thereof  in  haste,  and  I  shall  speak  to  Robert 
Inglos  and  to  Wickingham  thereof  :  I  suppose  they 
may  be  executors.  The  blessed  Trinity  have  you  in 
His  keeping.  Written  at  Norwich  in  haste  on  the 
Thursday  next  after  St.  Peter. 

I  pray  you  trust  not  to  the  sheriff  for  no  fair 
language. 

Yours, 
MARGARET  PASTON. 


FIFTEENTH-CENTURY    GOSSIP  3 

To  my  well-beloved  son,  Sir  John  Paston,  be  this  delivered 
in  haste 

CAISTER,  Tuesday,  November,  between  1463  and  1466. 
A  MOTHER'S  ADMONITIONS 

I  greet  you  well,  and  send  you  God's  blessing  and 
mine,  letting  you  weet  that  I  have  received  a  letter 
from  you,  the  which  he  delivered  to  Master  Roger  at 
Lynn,  whereby  I  conceive  that  ye  think  ye  did  not 
well  that  ye  departed  hence  without  my  knowledge, 
wherefore  I  let  you  weet  I  was  right  evil  paid  with 
you  ;  your  father  thought  and  thinketh  yet,  that  I 
was  assented  to  your  departing,  and  that  hath  caused 
me  to  have  great  heaviness  ;  I  hope  he  will  be  your 
good  father  hereafter  if  ye  demean  you  well,  and  do 
as  ye  ought  to  do  to  him  ;  and  I  charge  you  upon  my 
blessing  that  in  anything  touching  your  father  that 
should  be  [to]  his  worship,  profit  or  avail,  that  ye  do 
your  devoir  and  diligent  labour  to  the  furtherance 
therein  as  ye  will  have  my  good  will,  and  that  shall 
cause  your  father  to  be  better  father  to  you. 

It  was  told  me  ye  sent  him  a  letter  to  London ;  what 
the  intent  thereof  was  I  wot  not ;  but  though  he  take 
it  but  lightly,  I  would  ye  should  not  spare  to  write 
to  him  again  as  lowly  as  ye  can,  beseeching  him  to  be 
your  good  father  ;  and  send  him  such  tidings  as  be 
in  the  country  there  ye  beeth,  and  that  ye  ware  [guard] 
of  your  expenses  better  and  [than]  ye  have  been  before 
this  time,  and  be  your  own  purse-bearer  ;  I  trow  ye 
shall  find  it  most  profitable  to  you. 

I  would  ye  should  send  me  word  how   ye   do,    and 


4  MARGARET    PASTON 

how  ye  have  shifted  for  yourself  since  ye  departed 
hence,  by  some  trusty  man,  and  that  your  father  have 
no  knowledge  thereof;  I  durst  not  let  him  know  of 
the  last  letter  that  ye  wrote  to  me,  because  he  was 
so  sore  displeased  with  me  at  that  time. 

Item,  I  would  ye  should  speak  with  Wykes,  and 
know  his  disposition  to  Jane  Walsham  ;  she  hath  said 
since  he  departed  hence  but  [unless]  she  might  have 
him  she  would  never  [be]  married,  her  heart  is  sore 
set  on  him  ;  she  told  me  that  he  said  to  her  that  there 
was  no  woman  in  the  world  he  loved  so  well ;  I  would 
not  he  should  jape  [deceive]  her,  for  she  meaneth  good 
faith  ;  and  if  he  will  not  have  her  let  me  weet  in  haste, 
for  I  shall  purvey  for  her  in  otherwise.  ...  I  sent  your 
gray  horse  to  Ruston  to  the  farrier,  and  he  saith  he 
shall  never  be  nought  to  ride,  neither  right  good  to 
plough  nor  to  cast ;  he  said  he  was  splayed,  and  his 
shoulder  rent  from  the  body.  I  wot  not  what  to  do 
with  him. 

Your  grandam  would  fain  hear  some  tidings  from 
you  ;  it  were  well  done  that  ye  sent  a  letter  to  her 
how  ye  do  as  hastily  as  ye  may,  and  God  have  you 
in  His  keeping,  and  make  you  a  good  man,  and  give 
you  grace  to  do  well  as  I  would  ye  should  do. 

Written  at  Caister,  the  Tuesday  next  before  Saint 
Edmund  the  King. 

Your  mother, 

MARGARET  PASTON. 

I  would  ye  should  make  much  of  the  parson  of  Filley, 
the  bearer  hereof,  and  make  him  good  cheer  if  ye 
may. 


SIR    JOHN    PASTON'S    ENGAGEMENT          5 
Margaret  Paston  to  Sir  John  Paston 

NORWICH,  Monday,  April  3,  1469. 
MATRIMONIAL   ADVICE 

I  greet  you  well,  and  send  you  God's  blessing  and 
mine,  thanking  you  for  my  seal  that  ye  sent  me,  but 
I  am  right  sorry  that  ye  did  so  great  cost  thereupon,  for 
one  of  forty  pence  should  have  served  me  right  well ; 
send  me  word  what  it  cost  you  and  I  shall  send  you 
money  therefor.  I  sent  you  a  letter  by  a  man  of  Yar- 
mouth ;  send  me  word  if  ye  have  it,  for  I  marvel  ye 
sent  me  none  answer  thereof  by  Juddy. 

I  have  none  very  [certain  or  true]  knowledge  of  your 
insurance  [engagement],  but  if  ye  be  insured,  I  pray 
God  send  you  joy  and  worship  together,  and  so  I  trust 
ye  shall  have  if  it  be  as  it  is  reported  of  her  ;  and  anemps 
[before]  God  ye  are  as  greatly  bound  to  her  as  ye  were 
married,  and  therefore  I  charge  you  upon  my  blessing 
that  ye  be  as  true  to  her  as  she  were  married  unto 
you  in  all  degrees,  and  ye  shall  have  the  more  grace 
and  the  better  speed  in  all  other  things. 

Also  I  would  that  ye  should  not  be  too  hasty  to  be 
married  till  ye  were  sure  of  your  livelihood,  for  ye  must 
remember  what  charge  ye  shall  have,  and  if  ye  have  not 
to  maintain  it  it  will  be  a  great  rebuke  ;  and  therefore 
labour  that  ye  may  have  releases  of  the  lands  and  be  in 
more  surety  of  your  land  or  than  [before]  ye  be  married. 

The  Duchess  of  Suffolk  is  at  Ewelm,  in  Oxfordshire, 
and  it  is  thought  by  your  friends  here,  that  it  is  done 
that  she  might  be  far  and  out  of  the  way,  and  the  rather 
feign  excuse  because  of  age  or  sickness  if  that  the  king 
would  send  for  her  for  your  matters  .  .  .  Also  I  would 
that  ye  should  purvey  for  your  sister  to  be  with  my 


6  MARGARET    PASTON 

Lady  of  Oxford  or  with  my  Lady  of  Bedford,  or  in  some 
other  worshipful  place  whereas  ye  think  best,  and  I  will 
help  to  her  finding,  for  we  be  either  of  us  weary  of  other. 
I  shall  tell  you  more  when  I  speak  with  you.  .  .  . 

Item,  I  send  you  the  ouch  [a  collar  of  gold]  with 
the  diamond,  by  the  bearer  hereof.  I  pray  you  forget 
not  to  send  me  a  kersche  of  cr'melle  [a  kerchief  of 
worsted]  for  neckerchiefs  for  your  sister  Anne,  for  I  am 
schent  [blamed]  of  the  good  lady  that  she  is  with  because 
she  hath  none,  and  I  can  none  get  in  all  this  town. 

I  should  write  more  to  you  but  for  lack  of  leisure  ; 
God  have  you  in  His  keeping,  and  send  you  good  speed 
in  all  your  matters.  Written  in  haste  on  Easter  Monday. 

By  your  mother, 

MARGARET  PASTON. 

ANNE  BOLEYN  (1502-7-1536) 

SECOND  wife  of  Henry  VIII.,  was  the  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas 
Boleyn,  afterwards  Viscount  Rochford  and  Earl  of  Wiltshire. 
Shortly  after  the  King  had  sought  for  a  divorce  from 
Catherine  of  Aragon  in  1527  he  began  to  pay  his  addresses  to 
Anne  Boleyn,  and  was  secretly  married  to  her  in  January 
JSSS-  She  was  crowned  at  Westminster  Hall  on  Whit  Sunday 
of  that  year.  In  September  1533  she  gave  birth  to  the 
Princess  Elizabeth;  and  in  May  1536  she  was  tried  and 
found  guilty  on  a  charge  of  high  treason,  and  beheaded  on 
Tower  Green  a  few  days  later. 

Anne  Boleyn  to  Henry  VIII 

A    ROYAL    LOVE    LETTER 

[?    I527-] 

SIRE, — It  belongs  only  to  the  august  mind  of  a  great 
King,  to  whom  Nature  has  given  a  heart  full  of  generosity 


A    MAID    OF    HONOUR  7 

towards  the  sex,  to  repay  by  favours  so  extraordinary 
an  artless  and  short  conversation  with  a  girl.  In- 
exhaustible as  is  the  treasury  of  your  Majesty's  bounties, 
I  pray  you  to  consider  that  it  cannot  be  sufficient  to 
your  generosity  ;  for  if  you  recompense  so  slight  a 
conversation  by  gifts  so  great,  what  will  you  be  able  to 
do  for  those  who  are  ready  to  consecrate  their  entire 
obedience  to  your  desires  ?  How  great  soever  may  be 
the  bounties  I  have  received,  the  joy  that  I  feel  in  being 
loved  by  a  King  whom  I  adore,  and  to  whom  I  would 
with  pleasure  make  a  sacrifice  of  my  heart,  if  fortune 
had  rendered  it  worthy  of  being  offered  to  him,  will  ever 
be  infinitely  greater. 

The  warrant  of  Maid  of  Honour  to  the  Queen  induces 
me  to  think  that  your  Majesty  has  some  regard  for  me, 
since  it  gives  me  the  means  of  seeing  you  oftener  and 
of  assuring  you  by  my  own  lips  (which  I  shall  do  on  the 
first  opportunity),  that  I  am, 

Your  Majesty's  very  obliged  and  very  obedient 
servant,  without  any  reserve, 

ANNE  BOLEYN. 


MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS  (1542-1587) 

IF  not  actually  born  a  queen,  was  near  being  so,  as  she 
succeeded  her  father,  James  V.,  before  she  was  a  week  old. 
At  the  age  of  six,  in  1548,  Mary  left  Scotland  for  France, 
and  was  affianced  to  the  eldest  son  of  Henry  II.  and  Catherine 
d'  Medici.  For  ten  years  she  remained  at  the  French  Court, 
and  was  married  in  1558  to  the  Dauphin,  who  succeeded  to 
the  throne  in  the  following  year  as  Francis  II.,  and  died 
in  1560.  Mary  returned  to  Scotland  in  1561,  and  in  1565 
she  made  an  unhappy  marriage  with  her  cousin,  Henry 


8  MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS 

Stewart,  Lord  Darnley.  His  sudden  death  in  February  1567 
was  attributed  to  the  Earl  of  Bothwell,  whom  the  Queen 
had  favoured  recently,  and  three  months  later  she  married 
him.  This  unpopular  step  lost  her  the  support  of  her  nobles, 
who  took  arms  against  her ;  with  the  defeat  of  her  forces, 
she  surrendered,  and  later  abdicated  in  favour  of  her  son, 
James  VI.  She  made  a  last  attempt  to  regain  her  lost 
throne  with  an  army  of  6,000  men,  but  was  again  defeated, 
when  she  sought  the  help  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  imprisoned 
her  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  Mary  soon  became  the  centre 
of  a  series  of  plots  against  Elizabeth's  life,  and  on  the  dis- 
covery of  certain  letters  in  which  the  Scottish  Queen  signified 
approval  of  the  assassination  of  Elizabeth,  Mary  was  tried 
and  sentenced  in  1568,  but  her  execution  did  not  take  place 
until  1587. 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  to  her  godchild,  Elizabeth  Pievrepont 

THE    PRESENT 

DARLING, — I  have  received  your  letter  and  good 
tokens,  for  which  I  thank  you.  I  am  very  glad  you 
are  so  well.  Remain  with  your  mother  and  father 
this  season,  if  willing  to  keep  you,  for  the  air  and  the 
weather  are  so  trying  here  that  I  already  begin  to 
feel  the  change  of  the  temperature  from  that  of  Worssop, 
where  I  did  not  walk  much,  not  being  allowed  the 
command  of  my  legs.  Commend  me  to  your  father 
and  mother  very  affectionately  ;  also  to  your  sister, 
and  all  I  know,  and  to  all  who  know  me  there.  I  have 
had  your  black  silk  robe  made,  and  it  shall  be  sent 
to  you  as  soon  as  I  receive  the  trimming,  for  which  I 
wrote  to  London.  This  is  all  I  can  write  to  you  now, 
except  to  send  you  as  many  blessings  as  there  are 


p.  8] 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS 
From  a  miniature  by  Francois  Clone/  at  Windsor  Castle. 


QUEEN    MARY'S    PETITION  9 

days  in  the  year ;   praying  God  to  extend  His  arm  over 
you  and  yours  for  ever. 

In  haste  this  i3th  of  September.     Your  very  affec- 
tionate mistress,  and  best  friend, 

MARIE  R. 

Endorsed — "  To    my    well-beloved    bedfellow,    Bess 
Pierrepont." 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  to  Queen  Elizabeth 

A    HEAVY    IMPRISONMENT 

BOLTON  CASTLE,  January  22,  1569. 

MADAM  MY  GOOD  SISTER, — I  know  not  what  occasion 
I  can  have  given  to  any  of  this  company,  or  at  least 
of  your  kingdom,  that  they  should  endeavour  to  per- 
suade you  (as  it  appears  to  me,  by  your  letter)  of  a 
thing  so  distant  from  my  thoughts,  whereof  my  conduct 
has  borne  witness.  Madam,  I  came  to  you  in  my  trouble 
for  succour  and  support  on  the  faith  of  the  assurance 
that  I  might  reckon  upon  you  for  every  assistance  in 
my  necessity  ;  and,  for  this  reason,  I  refrained  from 
applying  for  any  other  aid  to  friends,  relatives,  and 
ancient  allies,  relying  solely  upon  your  promised 
favour.  I  have  never  attempted,  either  by  word  or 
deed,  ought  to  the  contrary,  and  nobody  can  lay  to 
my  charge  anything  against  you.  Still,  to  my  unspeak- 
able regret,  I  see  my  actions  falsely  represented  and 
construed  ;  but  I  hope  that  God  with  time,  the  Father 
of  Truth,  will  declare  otherwise,  and  prove  to  you  the 
sincerity  of  my  intentions  towards  you. 

In    the  meantime   I   am  treated  so  rigorously  that 


io  MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS 

I  cannot  comprehend  whence  proceeds  the  extreme 
indignation,  which  this  demonstrates,  that  you  have 
conceived  against  me,  in  return  for  the  confidence  which 
I  have  placed  in  you,  in  preference  to  all  other  princes, 
and  the  desire  I  have  shewn  to  obtain  your  favour. 
I  cannot  but  deplore  my  evil  fortune,  seeing  you  have 
been  pleased  not  only  to  refuse  me  your  presence, 
causing  me  to  be  declared  unworthy  of  it  by  your 
nobles,  but  also  suffered  me  to  be  torn  in  pieces  by  my 
rebels ;  without  even  making  them  answer  to  that 
which  I  had  alleged  against  them  ;  not  allowing  me 
to  have  copies  of  their  false  accusations l  or  affording 
me  any  liberty  to  accuse  them.  You  have  also 
permitted  them  to  retire,  with  a  decree,  in  a  manner 
absolving  and  strengthening  them  in  this  usurped 
so-called  regency,  and  have  thrown  the  blame  upon 
me,  and  covertly  condemned  me  without  giving  me  a 
hearing,  detained  my  ministers,  caused  me  to  be  removed 
by  force,  without  informing  me  what  has  been  resolved 
upon  respecting  my  affairs  ;  why  I  am  to  be  transferred 
to  another  abode  ;  how  long  I  am  to  remain  there  ; 
or  for  what  reason  I  am  confined,  and  all  support  and 
my  requests  refused. 

All  these  things,  along  with  other  petty  annoyances, 
such  as  not  permitting  me  to  receive  news  from  my 
relatives  in  France,  nor  from  my  servants  on  my  private 
necessities,  having  in  like  manner  anew  interdicted 
all  communication  with  Scotland,  nay,  refused  me 
leave  to  give  any  commission  to  one  of  my  servants, 
or  to  send  my  letters  by  them,  grieve  me  so  sorely  and 
make  me,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  so  timid  and  irresolute 
that  I  am  at  a  loss  how  to  act,  nor  can  I  resolve  upon 
1  The  contents  of  the  silver-gilt  casket. 


QUEEN    MARY'S    PETITION  n 

obeying  so  sudden  an  order  to  depart,  without  first 
receiving  some  news  from  my  commissioners,  not  that 
this  place  is  a  whit  more  agreeable  than  any  other 
which  you  may  be  pleased  to  assign,  when  you  have 
made  me  acquainted  with  your  good-will  towards 
me,  and  on  what  conditions. 

Wherefore,  Madam,  I  entreat  you  not  to  think  that 
I  mean  any  offence,  but  a  natural  care  which  I  owe  to 
myself  and  my  people,  to  wish  to  know  the  end  before 
disposing  of  myself  so  lightly,  I  mean  voluntarily  ; 
for  I  am  in  your  power,  and  you  can,  in  spite  of  me, 
command  even  the  lowest  of  your  subjects  to  sacrifice 
me,  without  my  being  able  to  do  anything  but  appeal 
to  God  and  you,  for  other  support  I  have  none  ;  and, 
thank  God,  I  am  not  so  silly  as  to  suppose  that  any 
of  your  subjects  concern  themselves  about  the  affairs 
of  a  poor,  forlorn,  foreign  princess,  who,  next  to  God, 
seeks  your  aid  alone,  and  if  my  adversaries  tell  you 
anything  to  the  contrary,  they  are  false  and  deceive 
you  ;  for  I  honour  you  as  my  elder  sister,  and,  not- 
withstanding all  the  grievances  above  mentioned,  I 
shall  be  every  ready  to  solicit,  as  of  my  elder  sister, 
your  friendship  before  that  of  any  other.  Would  to 
God  you  would  grant  it  me,  and  treat  me  as  I  should 
wish  to  deserve  in  your  place  !  When  this  shallcome 
to  pass,  I  shall  be  happy  ;  if  not,  God  grant  me  patience, 
and  you  His  grace  !  And  here  I  will  humbly  recom- 
mend myself  to  yours,  praying  God  to  grant  you,  madam, 
health  and  a  long  and  happy  life. 

From  Bolton,  this  xxii  of  January, 
Your  very  affectionate  good  sister  and  cousin, 

MARY  R. 


12  MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots  to  the  Archbishop  of  Glasgow 

FEATHERED   FRIENDS 

From  SHEFFIELD,  July  9,  1574. 

MONSIEUR  DE  GLASGOW, — I  have  nothing  particular 
to  say  at  present,  except  that,  thank  God,  I  am  in 
better  health  than  I  was  before  using  the  baths,  and 
when  I  last  wrote  to  you.  I  beg  you  will  procure  for 
me  some  turtle-doves,  and  some  Barbary  fowls.  I 
wish  to  try  if  I  can  rear  them  in  this  country,  as  your 
brother  told  me  that,  when  he  was  with  you,  he  had 
raised  some  in  a  cage,  as  also  some  red  partridges  ; 
and  send  me,  by  the  person  who  brings  them  to  London, 
instructions  how  to  manage  them.  I  shall  take  great 
pleasure  in  rearing  them  in  cages,  which  I  do  all  sorts 
of  little  birds  I  can  meet  with.  This  will  be  amusement 
for  a  prisoner,  particularly  since  there  are  none  in  this 
country,  as  I  wrote  to  you  not  long  ago.  Pray  see 
to  it  that  my  directions  be  complied  with,  and  I  will 
pray  God  to  have  you  in  His  keeping. 

Your  very  good  mistress  and  friend, 

MARY  R. 

QUEEN  ELIZABETH  (1633-1603) 

WAS  the  daughter  of  Henry  VIII.  by  his  second  wife,  Anne 
Boleyn.  The  second  letter  printed  here  was  written  a  fort- 
night after  the  execution  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  when 
Elizabeth  was  fifty- three,  and  James  VI.  twenty. 

Princess  Elizabeth  to  Lord  Admiral  Seymour 

AN    EARLY    LOVE    AFFAIR 

February  27,  1547. 

MY  LORD  ADMIRAL, — The  letter  you  have  written  to 
me  is  the  most  obliging,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  most 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH'S    LOVE-LETTER        13 

eloquent  in  the  world.  And  as  I  do  not  feel  myself 
competent  to  reply  to  so  many  courteous  expressions,  I 
shall  content  myself  with  unfolding  to  you,  in  few  words, 
my  real  sentiments.  I  confess  to  you  that  your  letter, 
all  eloquent  as  it  is,  has  very  much  surprised  me  ;  for, 
besides  that  neither  my  age  nor  my  inclination  allows 
me  to  think  of  marriage,  I  never  could  have  believed 
that  any  one  would  have  spoken  to  me  of  nuptials  at  a 
time  when  I  ought  to  think  of  nothing  but  sorrow  for 
the  death  of  my  father.  And  to  him  I  owe  so  much, 
that  I  must  have  two  years  at  least  to  mourn  for  his  loss. 
And  how  can  I  make  up  my  mind  to  become  a  wife 
before  I  shall  have  enjoyed  for  some  years  my  virgin 
state,  and  arrived  at  years  of  discretion  ? 

Permit  me,  then,  my  Lord  Admiral,  to  tell  you  frankly, 
that  as  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  who  more  esteems 
your  merit  than  myself,  or  who  sees  you  with  more 
pleasure  as  a  disinterested  person,  so  would  I  preserve 
to  myself  the  privilege  of  recognising  you  as  such, 
without  entering  into  that  strict  bond  of  matrimony, 
which  often  causes  one  to  forget  the  possession  of  true 
merit.  Let  your  highness  be  well  persuaded  that  though 
I  decline  the  happiness  of  becoming  your  wife  I  shall 
never  cease  to  interest  myself  in  all  that  can  crown 
your  merit  with  glory,  and  shall  ever  feel  the  greatest 
pleasure  in  being  your  servant  and  good  friend. 

ELIZABETH. 

Queen  Elizabeth  to  King  James  VI. 

AN    APOLOGY 

February  14,   1586-7. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER, — I  would  you  knew  (though  not 
felt)  the  extreme  dolour  that  overwhelms  my  mind 


14  QUEEN    ELIZABETH 

for  that  miserable  accident l  which,  far  contrary  to  my 
meaning,  hath  befallen.  I  have  now  sent  this  kinsman 
of  mine,  whom,  ere  now,  it  hath  pleased  you  to  favour, 
to  instruct  you  truly  of  that  which  is  irksome  for  my 
pen  to  tell  you.  I  beseech  you,  that  as  God  and  many 
[more]  know  how  innocent  I  am  in  this  case,  so  you  will 
believe  that,  if  I  had  hid  aught,  I  would  have  abided 
by  it.  I  am  not  so  base-minded  that  the  fear  of  any 
living  creature  or  prince  should  make  me  afraid  to 
do  that  were  just,  or,  when  done,  to  deny  the  same. 
I  am  not  of  so  base  a  lineage,  nor  carry  so  vile  a  mind. 
But  as  not  to  disguise  fits  not  the  mind  of  a  king,2  so 
will  I  never  dissemble  my  actions,  but  cause  them  to 
show  even  as  I  meant  them.  Thus  assuring  yourself 
of  me,  that  as  I  know  this  was  deserved,  yet,  if  I  had 
meant  it,  I  would  never  lay  it  on  others'  shoulders, 
no  more  will  I  not3  damnify  myself  that  thought  it 
not. 

The  circumstances  it  may  please  you  to  have  [learn] 
of  this  bearer  (Robert  Carey),  and  for  your  part,  think 
not  you  have  in  the  world  a  more  loving  kinswoman 
nor  a  more  dear  friend  than  myself,  nor  any  that  will 
watch  more  carefully  to  preserve  you  and  your  state. 
And  who  shall  otherwise  persuade  you,  judge  them 
more  partial  to  others  than  to  you.  And  thus,  in 
haste,  I  leave  to  trouble  you,  beseeching  God  to  send 
you  a  long  reign. 

Your  most  assured  loving  sister  and  cousin, 

ELIZABETH  R. 

1  Cutting  off  the  head  of  his  mother. 

2  She  uses  a  double  negative.     Evidently  should  read :  "  That 
disguise  fits  not  the  mind  of  a  king." 

3  Again  a  double  negative  contradicts  her  own  meaning. 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS'    DEATH         15 

Queen  Elizabeth  to  Lady  Norris 
THE  QUEEN'S  CONDOLENCES 

MINE  OWN  DEAR  CROW, — Although  we  have  deferred 
long  to  represent  unto  you  our  grieved  thoughts,  because 
we  liked  full  ill  to  yield  you  the  first  reflections  of  our 
misfortunes,  whom  we  have  always  sought  to  cherish 
and  comfort,  yet  knowing  now  that  necessity  must 
bring  it  to  your  ears,  and  nature  consequently  must 
raise  many  passionate  workings  in  your  heart,  we 
have  resolved  no  longer  to  smother  either  our  care 
for  your  sorrow,  or  the  sympathy  of  our  grief  for  his 
death ;  wherein,  if  society  in  sorrowing  work  any 
diminution,  we  do  assure  you,  by  this  true  messenger 
of  our  mind,  that  nature  can  have  stirred  no  more 
dolorous  affection  in  you  as  a  mother  for  a  dear  son 
than  the  grateful  memory  of  his  services  past  hath 
wrought  in  us,  his  sovereign,  apprehension  of  the  miss 
of  so  worthy  a  servant. 

But  now  that  nature's  common  work  is  done,  and 
he  that  was  born  to  die  hath  paid  his  tribute,  let  that 
Christian  dispretion  stay  the  flow  of  your  immoderate 
grieving,  which  hath  instructed  you,  both  by  example 
and  knowledge,  that  nothing  of  this  kind  hath  happened 
but  by  God's  providence,  and  that  these  lines  from 
your  loving  and  gracious  sovereign  serve  to  assure 
you  that  there  shall  ever  remain  the  lively  character 
of  you  and  yours  that  are  left,  in  valuing  rightly  all 
their  faithful  and  honest  endeavours. 

More  at  this  time  I  will  not  write  of  this  unsilent 
subject,  but  have  despatched  this  gentleman  to  visit 
both  your  lord,  and  to  condole  with  you  in  the  true 
sense  of  our  love,  and  to  pray  you  that  the  world  may 


16  QUEEN  ELIZABETH 

see,  that  what  time  cureth  in  weak  minds,  that  dis- 
cretion and  moderation  help  you  in  this  accident, 
where  there  is  so  opportune  occasion  to  demonstrate 
true  patience  and  moderation. 

Queen  Elizabeth  to  Dr.  Cox,  Bishop  of  Ely 

A    ROYAL    COMMAND' 

PROUD  PRELATE, — You  know  what  you  were  before 
I  made  you  what  you  are  now.  If  you  do  not  im- 
mediately comply  with  my  request,  I  will  unfrock  you, 
by  G— ! 

ELIZABETH. 

DOROTHY  OSBORNE  (1627-1695) 

WAS  the  daughter  of  Sir  Peter  Osborne.  She  was  courted 
by  Sir  William,  the  eldest  son  of  Sir  John  Temple,  who  sat 
in  the  Long  Parliament,  but  the  match  was  disapproved  of 
by  her  father,  an  ardent  Royalist.  Although  separated 
for  seven  years,  the  lovers,  however,  were  constant  to  one 
another,  as  Dorothy  Osborne' s  letters  testify.  They  were 
at  length  married  in  1655.  Judge  Parry  has  edited  a  valuable 
edition  of  her  letters,  from  which  he  has  kindly  allowed  the 
following  to  be  reprinted  : — 

Dorothy  Osborne  to  Sir  William  Temple 

DIARY    OF   A    DAY 

[1652-1654] 

SIR, — I  have  been  reckoning  up  how  many  faults 
you  lay  to  my  charge  in  your  last  letter,  and  I  find 
I  am  severe,  unjust,  unmerciful,  and  unkind.  Oh  me, 
how  should  one  do  to  mend  all  these  !  'Tis  work  for 
an  age,  and  'tis  to  be  feared  I  shall  be  so  old  before 


A    DREAM  17 

I  am  good,  that  'twill  not  be  considerable  to  anybody 
but  myself  whether  I  am  so  or  not.  I  say  nothing  of 
the  pretty  humour  you  fancied  me  in,  in  your  dream, 
because  'twas  a  dream.  Sure  if  it  had  been  anything 
else,  I  should  have  remembered  that  my  Lord  L.  loves 
to  have  his  chamber  to  himself  !  But  seriously,  now, 
I  wonder  at  your  patience.  How  could  you  hear  me 
talk  so  senselessly,  though  'twere  but  in  your  sleep, 
and  not  be  ready  to  beat  me  !  Well,  dreams  are  pleasant 
things  to  people  whose  humours  are  so  ;  but  to  have 
the  spleen  and  to  dream  upon't,  is  a  punishment  I 
would  not  wish  my  greatest  enemy  !  I  seldom  dream, 
or  never  remember  them,  unless  they  have  been  so 
sad  as  to  put  me  into  such  disorder  as  I  can  hardly 
recover  when  I  am  awake,  and  some  of  those  I  am 
confident  I  shall  never  forget. 

You  ask  me  how  I  pass  my  time  here.  I  can  give  you 
a  perfect  account  not  only  of  what  I  do  for  the  present, 
but  what  I  am  likely  to  do  this  seven  year  if  I  stay 
here  so  long.  I  rise  in  the  morning  reasonably  early, 
and  before  I  am  ready  I  go  round  the  house  till  I  am 
weary  of  that,  and  then  into  the  garden  till  it  grows 
too  hot  for  me.  About  ten  o'clock  I  think  of  making 
me  ready,  and  when  that's  done  I  go  into  my  father's 
chamber,  from  thence  to  dinner,  where  my  cousin 
Molle  and  I  sit  in  great  state,  in  a  room,  and  at  a  table 
that  would  hold  a  great  many  more.  After  dinner 
we  sit  and  talk  till  Mr.  B.  comes  in  question,  and  then 
I  am  gone.  The  heat  of  the  day  is  spent  in  reading 
and  working,  and  about  six  or  seven  o'clock  I  walk 
out  into  a  common  that  lies  hard  by  the  house,  where 
a  great  many  wenches  keep  sheep  and  cows,  and  sit  in 
the  shade  singing  of  ballads.  I  go  to  them  and  compare 


1 8  DOROTHY    OSBORNE 

their  voices  and  beauties  to  some  ancient  shepherdesses 
that  I  have  read  of,  and  find  a  vast  difference  there  ; 
but,  trust  me,  these  are  as  innocent  as  those  could  be. 
I  talk  to  them,  "  and  find  they  want  nothing  to  make 
them  the  happiest  people  in  the  world,  but  the  know- 
ledge that  they  are  so."  Most  commonly  when  we  are 
in  the  midst  of  our  discourse,  one  looks  about  her, 
and  spies  her  cows  going  into  the  corn,  and  then  away 
they  all  run  as  if  they  had  wings  at  their  heels.  I, 
that  am  not  so  nimble,  stay  behind  ;  and  when  I  see 
them  driving  home  their  cattle,  I  think  'tis  time  for 
me  to  retire  too.  When  I  have  supped,  I  go  into  the 
garden,  and  so  to  the  side  of  a  small  river  that  runs 
by  it,  where  I  sit  down  and  wish  you  with  me  (you 
had  best  say  this  is  not  kind  neither).  In  earnest, 
'tis  a  pleasant  place,  and  would  be  much  more  so  to  me 
if  I  had  your  company.  I  sit  there  sometimes  till  I 
am  lost  with  thinking  ;  and  were  it  not  for  some  cruel 
thoughts  of  the  crossness  of  our  fortunes  that  will 
not  let  me  sleep  there,  I. should  forget  that  there  were 
such  a  thing  to  be  done  as  going  to  bed. 

Since  I  writ  this  my  company  is  increased  by  two, 
my  brother  Harry  and  a  fair  niece,  the  eldest  of  my 
brother  Peyton's  daughters.  She  is  so  much  a  woman, 
that  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  say  I  am  her  aunt ;  and 
so  pretty,  that,  if  I  had  any  design  to  gain  of  servant, 
I  should  like  her  company ;  but  I  have  none,  and 
therefore  .shall  endeavour  to  keep  her  here  as  long  as 
I  can  persuade  her  father  to  spare  her,  for  she  will 
easily  consent  to  it,  having  so  much  of  my  humour 
(though  it  be  the  worst  thing  in  her)  as  to  like  a  melan- 
choly place  and  little  company.  My  brother  John 
is  not  come  down  again,  nor  am  I  certain  when  he  will 


THE   CROSSNESS   OF  FORTUNE  19 

be  here.  He  went  from  London  into  Gloucestershire 
to  my  sister,  who  was  very  ill,  and  his  youngest  girl, 
of  which  he  was  very  fond,  is  since  dead.  But  I  believe 
by  the  time  his  wife  has  a  little  recovered  her  sickness 
and  the  loss  of  her  child,  he  will  be  coming  this  way. 
My  father  is  reasonably  well,  but  keeps  his  chamber 
still,  and  will  hardly,  I  am  afraid,  ever  be  so  perfectly 
recovered  as  to  come  abroad  again. 

I  am  sorry  for  poor  Walter ;  but  you  need  not  doubt 
of  what  he  has  of  yours  in  his  hands,  for  it  seems 
he  does  not  use  to  do  his  work  himself.  I  speak  seriously ; 
he  keeps  a  Frenchman  that  sets  all  his  seals  and  rings. 
If  what  you  say  of  rny  Lady  Leppington  be  of  your 
own  knowledge,  I  shall  believe  you,  but  otherwise 
I  can  assure  you  I  have  heard  from  people  that  pretend 
to  know  her  very  well,  that  her.  kindness  to  Compton 
was  very  moderate,  and  that  she  never  liked  him  so 
well  as  when  he  died  and  gave  her  his  estate.  But 
they  might  be  deceived,  and  'tis  not  so  strange  as  that 
you  should  imagine  a  coldness  and  an  indifference  in 
my  letters,  when  I  so  little  meant  it ;  but  I  am  not 
displeased  you  should  desire  my  kindness  enough  to 
apprehend  the  loss  of  it  when  it  is  safest.  Only  I 
would  not  have  you  apprehend  it  so  far  as  to  believe 
it  possible — that  were  an  injury  to  all  the  assurances 
that  I  have  given  you,  and  if  you  love  me  you  cannot 
think  me  unworthy.  I  should  think  myself  so,  if  I 
found  you  grew  indifferent  to  me,  that  I  have  had  so 
long  and  so  particular  a  friendship  for ;  but,  sure, 
this  is  more  than  I  need  to  say.  You  are  enough  in 
my  heart  to  know  all  my  thoughts,  and  if  so,  you  know 
better  than  I  can  tell  you  how  much  I  am 

YOURS. 


20  DOROTHY    OSBORNE 

Dorothy  Osborne  to  Sir  William  Temple 

A    LOVE-LETTER 

[1652-1654.] 

'Tis  well  you  have  given  me  your  reproaches  ;  I 
can  allow  you  to  tell  me  of  my  faults  kindly  and  like 
a  friend.  Possibly  it  is  a  weakness  in  me  to  aim  at 
the  world's  esteem,  as  if  I  could  not  be  happy  without 
it ;  but  there  are  certain  things  that  custom  has  made 
almost  of  absolute  necessity,  and  reputation  I  take  to 
be  one  of  these.  If  one  could  be  invisible  I  should 
choose  that ;  but  since  all  people  are  seen  and  known, 
and  shall  be  talked  of  in  spite  of  their  teeth,  who  is 
that  does  not  desire,  at  least,  that  nothing  of  ill  may 
be  said  of  them  whether  justly  or  otherwise  ?  I  never 
knew  any  one  so  satisfied  with  their  own  innocence 
as  to  be  content  the  world  should  think  them  guilty. 
Some  out  of  pride  have  seemed  to  contemn  ill  reports 
when  they  have  found  they  could  not  avoid  them, 
but  none  out  of  strength  of  reason,  though  many  have 
pretended  to  it.  No,  not  my  Lady  Newcastle  with 
all  her  philosophy,  therefore  you  must  not  expect  it 
from  me.  I  shall  never  be  ashamed  to  own  that  I 
have  a  particular  value  for  you  above  any  other,  but 
'tis  not  the  greatest  merit  of  person  will  excuse  a  want 
of  fortune  ;  in  some  degrees  I  think  it  will,  at  least 
with  the  most  rational  part  of  the  world,  and,  as  far  as 
that  will  read,  I  desire  it  should.  I  would  not  have 
the  world  believe  I  married  out  of  interest  and  to  please 
my  friends  ;  I  had  much  rather  they  should  know  I 
chose  the  person,  and  took  his  fortune,  because  'twas 
necessary,  and  that  I  prefer  a  competency  with  one 
I  esteem  infinitely  before  a  vast  estate  in  other  hands. 
'Tis  much  easier,  sure,  to  get  a  good  fortune  than  a 


BROTHER    AND    SISTER  21 

good  husband  ;  but  whosoever  marries  without  any 
consideration  of  fortune  shall  never  be  allowed  to  do 
it  out  of  so  reasonable  an  apprehension  :  the  whole 
world  (without  any  reserve)  shall  pronounce  they  did 
it  merely  to  satisfy  their  giddy  humour. 

Besides,  though  you  imagine  'twere  a  great  argument 
of  my  kindness  to  consider  nothing  but  you,  in  earnest 
I  believe  'twould  be  an  injury  to  you.  I  do  not  see 
that  it  puts  any  value  upon  men  when  women  marry 
them  for  love  (as  they  term  it)  ;  'tis  not  their  merit, 
but  our  folly,  that  is  always  presumed  to  cause  it ; 
and  would  it  be  any  advantage  to  you  to  have  your 
wife  thought  an  indiscreet  person  ?  All  this  I  can  say 
to  you  ;  but  when  my  brother  disputes  it  with  me 
I  have  other  arguments  for  him,  and  I  drove  him  up 
so  close  t'other  night  that,  for  want  of  a  better  gap 
to  get  out  at,  he  was  fain  to  say  that  he  feared  as  much 
your  having  a  fortune  as  you  having  none,  for  he  saw 

you  held  my  Lord  L 's  principles,  that  religion  or 

honour  were  things  you  did  not  consider  at  all,  and 
that  he  was  confident  you  would  take  any  engagement, 
serve  in  any  employment,  or  do  anything  to  advance 
yourself.  I  had  no  patience  for  this.  To  say  you 
were  a  beggar,  your  father  not  worth  £4,000  in  the 
whole  world,  was  nothing  in  comparison  of  having  no 
religion  or  no  honour.  I  forgot  all  my  disguise,  and 
we  talked  ourselves  weary  ;  he  renounced  me  again, 
and  I  defied  him,  but  both  in  as  civil  language  as  it 
would  permit,  and  parted  in  great  anger  with  the  usual 
ceremony  of  a  leg  and  a  courtesy,  that  you  would  have 
died  with  laughing  to  have  seen  us. 

The  next  day,  I,  not  being  at  dinner,  saw  him  not 
till  night,  then  he  came  into  my  chamber,  where  I  supped 


22  DOROTHY    OSBORNE 

but  he  did  not.  Afterwards  Mr.  Gibson  and  he  and 
I  talked  of  indifferent  things  till  all  but  we  two  went 
to  bed.  Then  he  sat  half  an  hour  and  said  not  one 
word,  nor  I  to  him.  At  last  in  a  pitiful  tone,  "  Sister/' 
says  he,  "I  have  heard  you  say  that  when  anything 
troubles  you,  of  all  things  you  apprehend  going  to 
bed,  because  there  it  increases  upon  you,  and  you  lie 
at  the  mercy  of  all  your  sad  thoughts,  which  the  silence 
and  darkness  of  the  night  adds  a  horror  to.  I  am  at 
that  pass  now  ;  I  vow  to  God  I  would  not  endure  another 
night  like  the  last  to  gain  a  crown."  I,  who  resolved 
to  take  no  notice  what  ailed  him,  said  'twas  a  knowledge 
I  had  raised  from  my  spleen  only,  and  so  fell  into  a 
discourse  of  melancholy  and  the  causes,  and  from 
that  (I  know  not  how)  into  religion  ;  and  we  talked 
so  long  of  it,  and  so  devoutly  that  it  laid  all  our  anger. 
We  grew  to  a  calm  and  peace  with  all  the  world  ;  two 
hermits  conversing  in  a  cell  they  equally  inhabit  never 
expressed  more  humble,  charitable  kindness,  one 
towards  another,  than  we.  He  asked  my  pardon, 
and  I  his,  and  he  has  promised  me  never  to  speak  of 
it  whilst  he  lives,  but  leave  the  event  to  God  Almighty  ; 
and  till  he  sees  it  done,  he  will  be  always  the  same 
to  me  that  he  is  ;  then  he  shall  leave  me,  he  says,  not 
out  of  want  of  kindness  to  me,  but  because  he  cannot 
see  the  ruin  of  a  person  that  he  loves  so  passionately, 
and  in  whose  happiness  he  has  laid  up  all  his.  These 
are  the  terms  we  are  at,  and  I  am  confident  he  will  keep 
his  word  with  me,  so  that  you  have  no  reason  to  fear  him 
in  any  respect ;  for  though  he  should  break  his  promise, 
he  should  never  make  me  break  mine.  No,  let  me  assure 
you,  this  rival,  nor  any  other,  shall  ever  alter  me,  there- 
fore spare  your  jealousy,  or  turn  it  all  into  kindness. 


OF  THE) 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


-TOKENS  23 

I  will  write  every  week,  and  no  miss  of  letters  shall 
give  us  any  doubts  of  one  another.  Time  nor  accidents 
shall  not  prevail  upon  our  hearts,  and,  if  God  Almighty 
please  to  bless  us,  we  will  meet  the  same  we  are,  or 
happier.  I  will  do  as  you  bid  me.  I  will  pray,  and 
wish,  and  hope,  but  you  must  do  so  too,  then,  and  be 
so  careful  of  yourself  that  I  may  have  nothing  to  reproach 
you  with  when  you  come  back. 

That  vile  wench  lets  you  see  all  my  scribbles,  I  believe  ; 
how  do  you  know  I  took  care  your  hair  should  not 
be  spoiled  ?  'Tis  more  than  e'er  you  did.  I  think  you 
are  so  negligent  on't,  and  keep  it  so  ill,  'tis  pity  you 
should  have  it.  May  you  have  better  luck  in  the 
cutting  of  it  than  I  had  with  mine.  I  cut  it  two  or 
three  years  agone,  and  it  never  grew  since.  Look  to 
it  ;  if  I  keep  the  lock  you  give  me  better  than  you 
do  all  the  rest,  I  shall  not  spare  you  ;  expect  to  be 
soundly  chidden.  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  all 
my  letters  ?  Leave  them  behind  you  ?  If  you  do 
it  must  be  in  safe  hands  :  some  of  them  concern  you, 
and  me,  and  other  people  besides  us  very  much,  and 
they  will  almost  load  a  horse  to  carry. 

Do  not  my  cousins  at  M  -  P  -  mistrust  us  a 
little  ?  I  have  great  belief  they  do.  I'm  sure  Robin  C.  told 
my  brother  of  it  since  I  was  last  in  town.  Of  all  things, 
I  admire  my  cousin  Molle  has  not  got  it  by  the  end, 
he  that  frequents  that  family  so  much,  and  is  at  this 
instant  at  Kimbolton.  If  he  has,  and  conceals  it, 
he  is  very  discreet  ;  I  could  never  discern  by  anything 
that  he  knew  it.  I  shall  endeavour  to  accustom  myself 
to  the  noise  on't,  and  make  it  as  easy  to  me  as  I  can, 
though  I  had  much  rather  it  were  not  talked  of  till 
there  were  an  absolute  necessity  of  discovering  it  ; 


24  DOROTHY    OSBORNE 

and  you  can  oblige  me  in  nothing  more  than  in  con- 
cealing it.  I  take  it  very  kindly  that  you  promise  to 
use  all  your  interest  in  your  f[ather]  to  persuade  him 
to  endeavour  our  happiness,  and  he  appears  so  con- 
fident of  his  power  that  it  gives  me  great  hopes. 

Dear,  shall  we  ever  be  so  happy,  think  you  ?  Ah  ! 
I  dare  not  hope  it.  Yes,  'tis  not  want  of  love  gives 
me  these  fears.  No,  in  earnest,  I  think  (nay,  I  am 
sure)  I  love  you  more  than  ever,  and  'tis  that  only 
gives  me  these  despairing  thoughts  ;  when  I  consider 
how  small  a  proportion  of  happiness  is  allowed  in  this 
world,  and  how  great  mine  would  be  in  a  person  for 
whom  I  have  a  passionate  kindness,  and  who  has  the 
same  for  me.  As  it  is  infinitely  above  what  I  can  deserve 
and  more  than  God  Almighty  usually  allots  to  the  best 
people,  I  can  find  nothing  in  reason  but  seems  to  be 
against  me  ;  and,  methinks,  'tis  as  vain  in  me  to  expect 
it  as  'twould  be  to  hope  I  might  be  a  queen  (if  that 
were  really  as  desirable  a  thing  as  'tis  thought  to  be)  ; 
and  it  is  just  it  should  be  so. 

We  complain  of  this  world,  and  the  variety  of  crosses 
and  afflictions  it  abounds  in ;  and  yet  for  all  this  who 
is  weary  on't  (more  than  in  discourse)  ?  who  thinks 
with  pleasure  of  leaving  it,  or  preparing  for  the  next  ? 
We  see  old  folks,  that  have  outlived  all  the  comforts 
of  life,  desire  to  continue  it,  and  nothing  can  wean 
us  from  the  folly  of  preferring  a  mortal  being,  subject 
to  great  infirmity  and  unavoidable  decays,  before  an 
immortal  one,  and  all  the  glories  that  are  promised 
with  it.  Is  not  this  very  like  preaching  ?  Well,  'tis 
too  good  for  you  ;  you  shall  have  no  more  on't.  I 
am  afraid  you  are  not  mortified  enough  for  such  dis- 
courses to  work  upon  (though  I  am  not  of  my  brother's 


LOVE    AND    HAPPINESS  25 

opinion  neither,  that  you  have  no  religion  in  you). 
In  earnest,  I  never  took  anything  he  ever  said  half  so 
ill,  as  nothing,  sure,  is  so  great  an  injury.  It  must 
suppose  one  to  be  a  devil  in  human  shape.  Oh  me  ! 
Now  I  am  speaking  of  religion,  let  me  ask  you,  is  not 
his  name  Bagshaw  that  you  say  rails  on  love  and 
women  ?  Because  I  heard  one  t'other  day  speaking 
of  him,  and  commending  his  wit,  but  withal  said  he 
was  a  perfect  atheist.  If  so,  I  can  allow  him  to  hate 
us,  and  Love,  which,  sure,  has  something  of  divine 
in  it,  since  God  requires  it  of  us.  I  am  coming  into 
my  preaching  vein  again.  What  think  you,  were  it  not 
a  good  way  of  preferment,  as  the  times  are  ?  If  you 
advise  me  to  it  I'll  venture.  The  woman  at  Somerset 
House  was  cried  up  mightily.  Think  on't. 

Dear,  I  am  yours. 


LADY  RACHEL  RUSSELL  (1636-1723) 

LADY  RACHEL  WRIOTHESLEY  was  the  second  daughter 
and  co-heiress  of  the  Earl  of  Southampton.  She  married, 
in  1669,  William,  Lord  Russell,  who  was  arrested  on  a  charge 
of  high  treason  for  participation  in  the  Rye  House  Plot, 
and  was  found  guilty  and  beheaded  on  July  21,  1683.  Lady 
Russell,  who  appeared  in  court  at  her  husband's  trial  as 
his  vsecretary,  has  testified  in  her  well-known  letters  to 
the  honour  and  worth  of  his  character. 

Lady  Rachael  Russell  to  Lord  Russell 

THE    EVENING   LETTER 

TUNBRIPGE  WELLS,  1678. 

After  a  toilsome  day,  there  is  some  refreshment  to 
be  telling  our  story  to  our  best  friends.     I  have  seen 


26  LADY    RACHEL    RUSSELL 

your  girl  well  laid  in  bed,  and  ourselves  have  made 
our  suppers  upon  biscuits,  a  bottle  of  white  wine,  and 
another  of  beer,  mingled  my  uncle's  whey  with  nutmeg 
and  sugar.  None  are  disposing  to  bed,  not  so  much 
as  complaining  of  weariness.  Beds  and  things  are  all 
very  well  here ;  our  want  is,  yourself  and  good  weather. 
But  now  I  have  told  you  our  present  condition;  to 
say  a  little  of  the  past.  I  do  really  think,  if  I  could 
have  imagined  the  illness  of  the  journey,  it  would  have 
discouraged  me  ;  it  is  not  to  be  expressed  how  bad 
the  way  is  from  Sevenoaks  ;  but  our  horses  did  ex- 
ceeding well,  and  Spencer,  very  diligent,  often  off 
his  horse,  to  lay  hold  of  the  coach.  I  have  not  much 
more  to  say  this  night :  I  hope  the  quilt  is  remembered  ; 
and  Frances  must  remember  to  send  more  biscuits 
either  when  you  come,  or  soon  after.  I  long  to  hear 
from  you,  my  dearest  soul,  and  truly  think  your  absence 
already  an  age.  I  have  no  mind  to  my  gold  plate  : 
here  is  no  table  to  set  it  on  ;  but  if  that  does  not  come 
I  desire  you  would  bid  Betty  Foster  send  the  silver 
glass  I  use  every  day.  In  discretion  I  haste  to  bed, 
longing  for  Monday,  I  assure  you. 

From  your 

R.  RUSSELL. 


Lady  Rachel  Russell  to  Lord  Russell. 

THE    SON    AND    HEIR 

STRATTON,  September  20,  1681. 

To  see  anybody  preparing,  and  taking  their  way 
to  see  what  I  long  to  do  a  thousand  times  more  than 
they,  makes  me  not  endure  to  suffer  their  going,  without 


SACK    POSSET  27 

saying  something  to  my  best  life  ;  though  it  is  a  kind 
of  anticipating  my  joy  when  we  shall  meet,  to  allow 
myself  so  much  before  the  time  ;  but  I  confess  I  feel 
a  great  deal  that,  though  I  left  London  with  great 
reluctance  (as  it  is  easy  to  persuade  men  a  woman 
does),  yet  that  I  am  not  like  to  leave  Stratton  with 
greater.  They  will  tell  you  how  well  I  got  hither 
and  how  well  I  found  our  dear  treasure  here  :  your 
boy  will  please  you  ;  you  will,  I  think,  find  him  im- 
proved, though  I  tell  you  so  beforehand.  They  fancy 
he  wanted  you  ;  for,  as  soon  as  I  alighted,  he  followed, 
calling  Papa  ;  but  I  suppose  it  is  the  word  he  has 
most  command  of,  so  was  not  disobliged  by  the  little 
fellow.  The  girls  were  fine  in  remembrance  of  the 
happy  2gth  of  September  ;  and  we  drank  your  health, 
after  a  reindeer  pie  ;  and  at  night  your  girls  and  I  supped 
on  a  sack  posset :  nay,  Master  *  would  have  his  room, 
and  for  haste  burnt  his  fingers  in  the  posset ;  but 
he  does  but  rub  his  hands  for  it.  It  is  the  most  glorious 
weather  here  that  ever  was  seen.  The  coach  shall 
meet  you  at  the  cabbage  garden  :  be  there  by  eight 
o'clock  or  a  little  after  ;  though  I  guess  you  can  hardly 
be  there  so  soon,  day  breaks  so  late  ;  and  indeed  the 
mornings  are  so  misty,  it  is  not  wholesome  to  be  in 
the  air  so  early.  I  do  propose  going  to  my  neighbour 
Worsley  to-day.  I  would  fain  be  telling  my  heart 
more  things — anything  to  be  in  a  kind  of  talk  with 
him  ;  but,  I  believe,  Spencer  stays  for  my  despatch  : 
he  was  willing  to  go  early  ;  but  this  was  to  be  the 
delight  of  this  morning,  and  the  support  of  the  day. 
It  is  performed  in  bed,  thy  pillow  at  my  back,  where 
thy  dear  head  shall  lie,  I  hope,  to-morrow  night,  and 
i  Her  son. 


28  LADY    RACHEL    RUSSELL 

many  more,  I  trust  in  His  mercy,  notwithstanding 
all  our  enemies  or  ill-wishers.  Love,  and  be  willing 
to  be  loved  by, 

R.  RUSSELL. 


LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU  (1689-1762) 

WAS  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Kingston  and  the 
wife  of  Edward  Wortley  Montagu.  She  is  chiefly  remembered 
for  her  travels  in  the  East  and  her  famous  letters  written  from 
Constantinople  during  her  husband's  term  as  Ambassador 
at  the  Porte.  She  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  a  beauty 
and  a  wit,  and  was  for  many  years  the  friend  and  correspondent 
of  Pope. 

To  the  Countess  of  [Mar}. 

VISITS    TO   THE    HAREM 

ADRIANOPLE,  April  18,  O.S.  [1717]. 

I  wrote  to  you,  dear  sister,  and  to  all  my  other 
English  correspondents,  by  the  last  ship,  and  only 
Heaven  can  tell  when  I  shall  have  another  opportunity 
of  sending  to  you  ;  but  I  cannot  forbear  writing,  though 
perhaps  my  letter  may  lie  upon  my  hands  this  two 
months.  To  confess  the  truth,  my  head  is  so  full  of  my 
entertainment  yesterday,  that  'tis  absolutely  necessary 
for  my  own  repose  to  give  it  some  vent.  Without  farther 
preface,  I  will  then  begin  my  story. 

I  was  invited  to  dine  with  the  Grand  Vizier's  lady, 
and  it  was  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  I  prepared  myself 
for  an  entertainment  which  was  never  given  before  to 
any  Christian.  I  thought  I  should  very  little  satisfy 
her  curiosity  (which  I  did  not  doubt  was  a  considerable 
motive  to  the  invitation)  by  going  in  a  dress  she  was 


P- 28] 


LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU 

From  an  engraving  by  W.  Greatbatch  after  the  picture  in  the 
possession  of  the  Earl  of  Harrington. 


THE    GRAND    VIZIER'S    LADY  29 

used  to  see,  and  therefore  dressed  myself  in  the  court 
habit  of  Vienna,  which  is  much  more  magnificent  than 
ours.  However,  I  chose  to  go  incognita,  to  avoid  any 
disputes  about  ceremony,  and  went  in  a  Turkish  coach, 
only  attended  by  my  woman  that  held  up  my  train,  and 
the  Greek  lady  who  was  my  interpretess.  I  was  met 
at  the  court  door  by  her  black  eunuch,  who  helped  me 
out  of  the  coach  with  great  respect,  and  conducted  me 
through  several  rooms,  where  her  she-slaves,  finely 
dressed,  were  ranged  on  each  side.  In  the  innermost  I 
found  the  lady  sitting  on  her  sofa,  in  a  sable  vest.  She 
advanced  to  meet  me,  and  presented  me  to  half  a  dozen 
of  her  friends  with  great  civility.  She  seemed  a  very 
good  woman,  near  fifty  years  old.  I  was  surprised 
to  observe  so  little  magnificence  in  her  house,  the  furni- 
ture being  all  very  moderate  ;  and,  except  the  habits 
and  number  of  her  slaves,  nothing  about  her  that 
appeared  expensive.  She  guessed  at  my  thoughts,  and 
told  me  that  she  was  no  longer  of  an  age  to  spend  either 
her  time  or  money  in  superfluities  ;  that  her  whole 
expense  was  in  charity,  and  her  whole  employment 
praying  to  God.  There  was  no  affectation  in  this  speech  ; 
both  she  and  her  husband  are  entirely  given  up  to 
devotion.  He  never  looks  upon  any  other  woman  ; 
and,  what  is  much  more  extraordinary,  touches  no 
bribes,  notwithstanding  the  example  of  all  his  pre- 
decessors. He  is  so  scrupulous  in  this  point,  that  he 
would  not  accept  Mr.  W[ortley]'s  present,  till  he  had 
been  assured  over  and  over  again  that  it  was  a  settled 
perquisite  of  his  place  at  the  entrance  of  every 
ambassador. 

She  entertained  me  with  all  kind  of  civility  till  dinner 
came  in,  which  was  served,  one  dish  at  a  time,  to  a  vast 


30    LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU 

number,  all  finely  dressed  after  their  manner,  which  I 
do  not  think  so  bad  as  you  have  perhaps  heard  it  repre- 
sented. I  am  a  very  good  judge  of  their  eating,  having 
lived  three  weeks  in  the  house  of  an  effendi  at  Belgrade, 
who  gave  us  very  magnificent  dinners,  dressed  by  his 
own  cooks,  which  the  first  week  pleased  me  extremely  ; 
but  I  own  I  then  began  to  grow  weary  of  it  and  desired 
our  own  cook  might  add  a  dish  or  two  after  our  manner. 
But  I  attribute  this  to  custom.  I  am  very  much  inclined 
to  believe  an  Indian,  that  had  never  tasted  of  either, 
would  prefer  their  cookery  to  ours.  Their  sauces  are 
very  high,  all  the  roast  very  much  done.  They  use  a 
great  deal  of  rich  spice.  The  soup  is  served  for  the  last 
dish  ;  and  they  have  at  least  as  great  variety  of  ragouts 
as  we  have.  I  was  very  sorry  I  could  not  eat  of  as  many 
as  the  good  lady  would  have  had  me,  who  was  very 
earnest  in  serving  me  of  every  thing.  The  treat  con- 
cluded with  coffee  and  perfumes,  which  is  a  high  mark 
of  respect  ;  two  slaves  kneeling  censed  my  hair,  clothes, 
and  handkerchief.  After  this  ceremony,  she  commanded 
her  slaves  to  play  and  dance,  which  they  did  with  their 
guitars  in  their  hands  ;  and  she  excused  to  me  their  want 
of  skill,  saying  she  took  no  care  to  accomplish  them  in 
that  art. 

I  returned  her  thanks,  and  soon  after  took  my  leave. 
I  was  conducted  back  in  the  same  manner  I  entered  ; 
and  would  have  gone  straight  to  my  own  house  ;  but 
the  Greek  lady  with  me  earnestly  solicited  me  to  visit 
the  kiyaya's  lady,  saying,  he  was  the  second  officer 
in  the  empire,  and  ought  indeed  to  be  looked  upon  as 
the  first,  the  Grand  Vizier  having  only  the  name,  while 
he  exercised  the  authority.  I  had  found  so  little  diver- 
sion in  this  harem,  that  I  had  no  mind  to  go  into  another. 


A    TURKISH    BANQUET  31 

But  her  importunity  prevailed  with  me,  and  I  am  extreme 
glad  that  I  was  so  complaisant. 

All  things  here  were  with  quite  another  air  than  at 
the  Grand  Vizier's  ;  and  the  very  house  confessed  the 
difference  between  an  old  devote  and  a  young  beauty. 
It  was  nicely  clean  and  magnificent.  I  was  met  at  the 
door  by  two  black  eunuchs,  who  led  me  through  a  long 
gallery  between  two  ranks  of  beautiful  young  girls,  with 
their  hair  finely  plaited,  almost  hanging  to  their  feet, 
all  dressed  in  fine  light  damasks,  brocaded  with  silver. 
I  was  sorry  that  decency  did  not  permit  me  to  stop  to 
consider  them  nearer.  But  that  thought  was  lost  upon 
my  entrance  into  a  large  room,  or  rather  pavilion,  built 
round  with  gilded  sashes,  which  were  most  of  them 
thrown  up,  and  the  trees  planted  near  them  gave  an 
agreeable  shade,  which  hindered  the  sun  from  being 
troublesome.  The  jessamines  and  honeysuckles  that 
twisted  round  their  trunks  shed  a  soft  perfume,  increased 
by  a  white  marble  fountain  playing  sweet  water  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  room,  which  fell  into  three  or  four 
basins  with  a  pleasing  sound.  The  roof  was  painted 
with  all  sorts  of  flowers,  falling  out  of  gilded  baskets, 
that  seemed  tumbling  down.  On  a  sofa,  raised  three 
steps,  and  covered  with  fine  Persian  carpets,  sat  the 
kiyaya's  lady,  leaning  on  cushions  of  white  satin,  em- 
broidered ;  and  at  her  feet  sat  two  young  girls,  the  eldest 
about  twelve  years  old,  lovely  as  angels,  dressed  perfectly 
rich,  and  almost  covered  with  jewels.  But  they  were 
hardly  seen  near  the  fair  Fatima  (for  that  is  her  name), 
so  much  her  beauty  effaced  every  thing  I  have  seen,  all 
that  has  been  called  lovely  either  in  England  or  Germany, 
and  [I]  must  own  that  I  never  saw  any  thing  so  gloriously 
beautiful,  nor  can  I  recollect  a  face  that  would  have 


32    LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU 

been  taken  notice  of  near  hers.  She  stood  up  to  receive 
me,  saluting  me  after  their  fashion,  putting  her  hand 
upon  her  heart  with  a  sweetness  full  of  majesty,  that 
no  court  breeding  could  ever  give.  She  ordered  cushions 
to  be  given  to  me,  and  took  care  to  place  me  in  the 
corner,  which  is  the  place  of  honour.  I  confess,  though 
the  Greek  lady  had  before  given  me  a  great  opinion  of 
her  beauty,  I  was  so  struck  with  admiration,  that  I 
could  not  for  some  time  speak  to  her,  being  wholly  taken 
up  in  gazing.  That  surprising  harmony  of  features  ! 
that  charming  result  of  the  whole  !  that  exact  pro- 
portion of  body  !  that  lovely  bloom  of  complexion 
unsullied  by  art  !  the  unutterable  enchantment  of 
her  smile  ! — But  her  eyes  ! — large  and  black,  with  all 
the  soft  languishment  of  the  blue !  every  turn  of  her 
face  discovering  some  new  charm. 

After  my  first  surprise  was  over,  I  endeavoured,  by 
nicely  examining  her  face,  to  find  out  some  imperfection, 
without  any  fruit  of  my  search,  but  being  clearly  con- 
vinced of  the  error  of  that  vulgar  notion,  that  a  face 
perfectly  regular  would  not  be  agreeable  ;  nature  having 
done  for  her  with  more  success,  what  Apelles  is  said  to 
have  essayed,  by  a  collection  of  the  most  exact  features, 
to  form  a  perfect  face,  and  to  that,  a  behaviour  so  full 
of  grace  and  sweetness,  such  easy  motions,  with  an  air 
so  majestic,  yet  free  from  stiffness  or  affectation,  that  I 
am  persuaded,  could  she  be  suddenly  transported  upon 
the  most  polite  throne  of  Europe,  nobody  would  think 
her  other  than  born  and  bred  to  be  a  queen,  though 
educated  in  a  country  we  call  barbarous.  To  say  all 
in  a  word,  our  most  celebrated  English  beauties  would 
vanish  near  her. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  caftan  of  gold  brocade,  flowered 


TURKISH    COSTUMES  33 

with  silver,  very  well  fitted  to  her  shape,  and  showing 
to  advantage  the  beauty  of  her  bosom,  only  shaded 
by  a  thin  gauze  of  her  shift.  Her  drawers  were  pale 
pink,  green  and  silver,  her  slippers  white,  finely  em- 
broidered :  her  lovely  arms  adorned  with  bracelets  of 
diamonds,  and  her  broad  girdle  set  round  with  diamonds  ; 
upon  her  head  a  rich  Turkish  handkerchief  of  pink  and 
silver,  her  own  fine  black  hair  hanging  a  great  length 
in  various  tresses,  and  on  one  side  of  her  head  some 
bodkins  of  jewels.  I  am  afraid  you  will  accuse  me  of 
extravagance  in  this  description.  I  think  I  have  read 
somewhere  that  women  always  speak  in  rapture  when 
they  speak  of  beauty,  but  I  cannot  imagine  why  they 
should  not  be  allowed  to  do  so.  I  rather  think  it  [a] 
virtue  to  be  able  to  admire  without  any  mixture  of  desire 
or  envy.  The  gravest  writers  have  spoken  with  great 
warmth  of  some  celebrated  pictures  and  statues.  The 
workmanship  of  Heaven  certainly  excels  all  our  weak 
imitations,  and,  I  think,  has  a  much  better  claim  to 
our  praise.  For  me,  I  am  not  ashamed  to  own  I  took 
more  pleasure  in  looking  on  the  beauteous  Fatima  than 
the  finest  piece  of  sculpture  could  have  given  me. 

She  told  me  the  two  girls  at  her  feet  were  her  daughters, 
though  she  appeared  too  young  to  be  their  mother.  Her 
fair  maids  were  ranged  below  the  sofa,  to  the  number 
of  twenty,  and  put  me  in  mind  of  the  pictures  of  the 
ancient  nymphs.  I  do  not  think  all  nature  could  have 
furnished  such  a  scene  of  beauty.  She  made  them  a 
sign  to  play  and  dance.  Four  of  them  immediately 
began  to  play  some  soft  airs  on  instruments,  between 
a  lute  and  a  guitar,  which  they  accompanied  with  their 
voices,  while  the  others  danced  by  turns.  This  dance 
was  very  different  from  what  I  had  seen  before.  Nothing 

3 


34    LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU 

could  be  more  artful,  or  more  proper  to  raise  certain 
ideas.  The  tunes  so  soft  ! — the  motions  so  languishing  ! 
— accompanied  with  pauses  and  dying  eyes  !  half- 
falling  back,  and  then  recovering  themselves.  ...  I 
suppose  you  may  have  read  that  the  Turks  have  no 
music  but  what  is  shocking  to  the  ears  ;  but  this  account 
is  from  those  who  never  heard  any  but  what  is  played  in 
the  streets,  and  is  just  as  reasonable  as  if  a  foreigner 
should  take  his  ideas  of  the  English  music  from  the 
bladder  and  string,  and  marrow-bones  and  cleavers. 
I  can  assure  you  that  the  music  is  extremely  pathetic  ; 
'tis  true  I  am  inclined  to  prefer  the  Italian,  but  perhaps 
I  am  partial.  I  am  acquainted  with  a  Greek  lady  who 
sings  better  than  Mrs.  Robinson,  and  is  very  well  skilled 
in  both,  who  gives  the  preference  to  the  Turkish.  'Tis 
certain  they  have  very  fine,  natural  voices  ;  these  were 
very  agreeable.  When  the  dance  was  over,  four  fair 
slaves  came  into  the  room  with  silver  censers  in  their 
hands,  and  perfumed  the  air  with  amber,  aloes-wood, 
and  other  scents.  After  this  they  served  me  coffee 
upon  their  knees  in  the  finest  japan  china,  with  soucoupes 
of  silver-gilt.  The  lovely  Fatima  entertained  me  all 
this  time  in  the  most  polite,  agreeable  manner,  calling 
me  often  Guztl  sultanum,  or  the  beautiful  sultana,  and 
desiring  my  friendship  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world, 
lamenting  that  she  could  not  entertain  me  in  my  own 
language. 

When  I  took  my  leave,  two  maids  brought  in  a  fine 
silver  basket  of  embroidered  handkerchiefs  ;  she  begged 
I  would  wear  the  richest  for  her  sake,  and  gave  the 
others  to  my  woman  and  interpretess.  I  retired  through 
the  same  ceremonies  as  before,  and  could  not  help 
fancying  I  had  been  some  time  in  Mahomet's  paradise, 


ORIENTAL   MUSIC  35 

so  much  was  I  charmed  with  what  I  had  seen.  I 
know  not  how  the  relation  of  it  appears  to  you. 
I  wish  it  may  give  you  part  of  my  pleasure  ;  for  I 
would  have  my  dear  sister  share  in  all  the  diversions 
of,  etc. 


Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  to  the  Countess  of  Mar 

DINING   WITH   THE   SULTANA 
PERA  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE,  March  10,  O.S.  [1718]. 

I  have  not  written  to  you,  dear  sister,  these  many 
months  : — a  great  piece  of  self-denial.  But  I  know  not 
where  to  direct,  or  what  part  of  the  world  you  were  in. 
I  have  received  no  letter  from  you  since  that  short  note 
of  April  last,  in  which  you  tell  me,  that  you  are  on  the 
point  of  leaving  England,  and  promise  me  a  direction 
for  the  place  you  stay  in  ;  but  I  have  in  vain  expected 
it  till  now  :  and  now  I  only  learn  from  the  gazette,  that 
you  are  returned,  which  induces  me  to  venture  this 
letter  to  your  house  at  London.  I  had  rather  ten  of  my 
letters  should  be  lost,  than  you  imagine  I  don't  write  ; 
and  I  think  it  is  hard  fortune  if  one  in  ten  don't  reach 
you.  However,  I  am  resolved  to  keep  the  copies,  as 
testimonies  of  my  inclination  to  give  you,  to  the  utmost 
of  my  power,  all  the  diverting  part  of  my  travels,  while 
you  are  exempt  from  all  the  fatigues  and  inconveniences. 

I  went  to  see  the  Sultana  Hafiten,  favourite  of  the 
late  Emperor  Mustapha,  who,  you  know  (or  perhaps  you 
don't  know),  was  deposed  by  his  brother,  the  reigning 
Sultan  Achmet,  and  died  a  few  weeks  after,  being 


36    LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU 

poisoned,  as  it  was  generally  believed.  This  lady  was, 
immediately  after  his  death,  saluted  with  an  absolute 
order  to  leave  the  seraglio,  and  choose  herself  a  husband 
from  the  great  men  at  the  Porte.  I  suppose  you  may 
imagine  her  overjoyed  at  this  proposal.  Quite  con- 
trary :  these  women,  who  are  called,  and  esteem  them- 
selves, queens,  look  upon  this  liberty  as  the  greatest 
disgrace  and  affront  that  can  happen  to  them.  She 
threw  herself  at  the  Sultan's  feet,  and  begged  him  to 
poignard  her,  rather  than  use  his  brother's  widow  with 
that  contempt.  She  represented  to  him,  in  agonies  of 
sorrow,  that  she  was  privileged  from  this  misfortune, 
by  having  brought  five  princes  into  the  Ottoman  family  ; 
but  all  the  boys  being  dead,  and  only  one  girl  surviving, 
this  excuse  was  not  received,  and  she  [was]  compelled  to 
make  her  choice.  She  chose  Bekir  Effendi,  then  secretary 
of  state,  and  above  fourscore  years  old,  since  she  must 
honour  some  subject  so  far  as  to  be  called  his  wife,  she 
would  choose  him  as  a  mark  of  her  gratitude,  since  it 
was  he  that  had  presented  her  at  the  age  of  ten  years 
old,  to  her  last  lord.  But  she  has  never  permitted  him 
to  pay  her  one  visit ;  though  it  is  now  fifteen  years  she 
has  been  in  his  house,  where  she  passes  her  time  in  unin- 
terrupted mourning,  with  a  constancy  very  little  known 
in  Christendom,  especially  in  a  widow  of  twenty-one, 
for  she  is  now  but  thirty-six.  She  has  no  black  eunuchs 
for  her  guard,  her  husband  being  obliged  to  respect 
her  as  a  queen,  and  not  inquire  at  all  into  what  is  done 
in  her  apartment,  where  I  was  led  into  a  large  room, 
with  a  sofa  the  whole  length  of  it,  adorned  with  white 
marble  pillars  like  a  ruelle,  covered  with  pale  blue 
figured  velvet  on  a  silver  ground,  with  cushions  of  the 
same,  where  I  was  desired  to  repose  till  the  Sultana 


THE    SULTANA'S    JEWELS  37 

appeared,  who  had  contrived  this  manner  of  reception 
to  avoid  rising  up  at  my  entrance,  though  she  made  me 
an  inclination  of  her  head,  when  I  rose  up  to  her.  I 
was  very  glad  to  observe  a  lady  that  had  been  dis- 
tinguished by  the  favour  of  an  emperor,  to  whom  beauties 
were  every  day  presented  from  all  parts  of  the  world. 
But  she  did  not  seem  to  me  to  have  ever  been  half  so 
beautiful  as  the  fair  Fatima  I  saw  at  Adrianople  ;  though 
she  had  the  remains  of  a  fine  face,  more  decayed  by 
sorrow  than  time.  But  her  dress  was  something  so 
surprisingly  rich,  I  cannot  forbear  describing  it  to  you. 
She  wore  a  vest  called  donalma,  and  which  differs  from 
a  caftan  by  longer  sleeves,  and  folding  over  at  the  bottom. 
It  was  of  purple  cloth,  straight  to  her  shape,  and  thick 
set,  on  each  side,  down  to  her  feet,  and  round  the  sleeves, 
with  pearls  of  the  best  water,  of  the  same  size  as  their 
buttons  commonly  are.  You  must  not  suppose  I  mean 

as  large  as  those  of  my  Lord ,  but  about  the  bigness 

of  a  pea  ;  and  to  these  buttons  large  loops  of  diamonds, 
in  the  form  of  those  gold  loops  so  common  upon  birth- 
day coats.  This  habit  was  tied,  at  the  waist,  with  two 
large  tassels  of  smaller  pearl,  and  round  the  arms  em- 
broidered with  large  diamonds  :  her  shift  fastened  at 
the  bottom  with  a  great  diamond,  shaped  like  a  lozenge  : 
her  girdle  as  broad  as  the  broadest  English  ribbon, 
entirely  covered  with  diamonds.  Round  her  neck 
she  wore  three  chains,  which  reached  to  her  knees  : 
one  of  large  pearl,  at  the  bottom  of  which  hung  a  fine 
coloured  emerald,  as  big  as  a  turkey-egg  ;  another,  con- 
sisting of  two  hundred  emeralds,  close  joined  together, 
of  the  most  lively  green,  perfectly  matched,  every  one 
as  large  as  a  half-crown  piece,  and  as  thick  as  three 
crown  pieces  ;  and  another  of  small  emeralds,  perfectly 


38    LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU 

round.  But  her  earrings  eclipsed  all  the  rest.  They 
were  two  diamonds,  shaped  exactly  like  pears,  as  large 
as  a  big  hazel-nut.  Round  her  talpoche  she  had  four 
strings  of  pearl,  the  whitest  and  most  perfect  in  the 
world,  at  least  enough  to  make  four  necklaces,  every 
one  as  large  as  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough's,  and  of 
the  same  size,  fastened  with  two  roses,  consisting  of  a 
large  ruby  for  the  middle  stone,  and  round  them  twenty 
drops  of  clean  diamonds  to  each.  Besides  this,  her 
head-dress  was  covered  with  bodkins  of  emeralds  and 
diamonds.  She  wore  large  diamond  bracelets,  and 
had  five  rings  on  her  fingers,  all  single  diamonds,  (except 
Mr.  Pitt's)  the  largest  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  It  is  for 
jewellers  to  compute  the  value  of  these  things  ;  but, 
according  to  the  common  estimation  of  jewels  in  our 
part  of  the  world,  her  whole  dress  must  be  worth  above 
a  hundred  thousand  pounds  sterling.  This  I  am  very 
sure  of,  that  no  European  queen  has  half  the  quantity  ; 
and  the  empress's  jewels,  though  very  fine,  would  look 
very  mean  near  hers. 

She  gave  me  a  dinner  of  fifty  dishes  of  meat,  which 
(after  their  fashion)  were  placed  on  the  table  but  one  at 
a  time,  and  was  extremely  tedious.  But  the  magnifi- 
cence of  her  table  answered  very  well  to  that  of  her 
dress.  The  knives  were  of  gold,  the  hafts  set  with 
diamonds.  But  the  piece  of  luxury  that  grieved  my 
eyes  was  the  table-cloth  and  napkins,  which  were  all 
tiffany,  embroidered  with  silks  and  gold,  in  the  finest 
manner,  in  natural  flowers.  It  was  with  the  utmost 
regret  that  I  made  use  of  these  costly  napkins,  as  finely 
wrought  as  the  finest  handkerchiefs  that  ever  came  out 
of  this  country.  You  may  be  sure,  that  they  were 
entirely  spoiled  before  dinner  was  over.  The  sherbet 


COSTLY    NAPERY  39 

(which  is  the  liquor  they  drink  at  meals)  was  served  in 
china  bowls  ;  but  the  covers  and  salvers  massy  gold. 
After  dinner,  water  was  brought  in  a  gold  basin,  and 
towels  of  the  same  kind  of  the  napkins,  which  I  very 
unwillingy  wiped  my  hands  upon ;  and  coffee  was 
served  in  china,  with  gold  soucoupes. 

The  Sultana  seemed  in  very  good  humour,  and  talked 
to  me  with  the  utmost  civility.  I  did  not  omit  this 
opportunity  of  learning  all  that  I  possibly  could  of  the 
seraglio,  which  is  so  entirely  unknown  among  us.  She 
assured  me  that  the  story  of  the  Sultan's  throwing  a 
handkerchief  is  altogether  fabulous  ;  and  the  manner 
upon  that  occasion,  no  other  but  that  he  sends  the 
kysldr  agd,  to  signify  to  the  lady  the  honour  he  intends 
her.  She  is  immediately  complimented  upon  it  by  the 
others,  and  led  to  the  bath,  where  she  is  perfumed  and 
dressed  in  the  most  magnificent  and  becoming  manner. 
The  Emperor  precedes  his  visit  by  a  royal  present,  and 
then  comes  into  her  apartment :  neither  is  there  any 
such  thing  as  her  creeping  in  at  the  bed's  foot.  She 
said,  that  the  first  he  made  choice  of  was  always  after 
the  first  in  rank,  and  not  the  mother  of  the  eldest  son,  as 
other  writers  would  make  us  believe.  Sometimes  the 
Sultan  diverts  himself  in  the  company  of  all  his  ladies, 
who  stand  in  a  circle  round  him.  And  she  confessed 
that  they  were  ready  to  die  with  jealousy  and  envy  of 
the  happy  she  that  he  distinguished  by  any  appearance 
of  preference.  But  this  seemed  to  me  neither  better 
nor  worse  than  the  circles  in  most  courts,  where  the 
glance  of  the  monarch  is  watched,  and  every  smile 
waited  for  with  impatience,  and  envied  by  those  who 
cannot  obtain  it. 

She  never  mentioned  the  Sultan  without  tears  in  her 


40          LADY   MARY   WORTLEY   MONTAGU 

eyes,  yet  she  seemed  very  fond  of  the  discourse.  "  My 
past  happiness,"  said  she,  "  appears  a  dream  to  me. 
Yet  I  cannot  forget,  that  I  was  beloved  by  the  greatest 
and  most  lovely  of  mankind.  I  was  chosen  from  all 
the  rest,  to  make  all  his  campaigns  with  him  ;  I  would 
not  survive  him,  if  I  was  not  passionately  fond  of  the 
princess  my  daughter.  Yet  all  my  tenderness  for  her 
was  hardly  enough  to  make  me  preserve  my  life.  When 
I  lost  him,  I  passed  a  whole  twelvemonth  without  seeing 
the  light.  Time  has  softened  my  despair  ;  yet  I  now 
pass  some  days  every  week  in  tears,  devoted  to  the 
memory  of  my  Sultan." 

There  was  no  affectation  in  these  words.  It  was  easy 
to  see  she  was  in  a  deep  melancholy,  though  her  good 
humour  made  her  willing  to  divert  me. 

She  asked  me  to  walk  in  her  garden,  and  one  of  her 
slaves  immediately  brought  her  a  pellice  of  rich  brocade 
lined  with  sables.  I  waited  on  her  into  the  garden, 
which  had  nothing  in  it  remarkable  but  the  fountains  ; 
and  from  thence  she  showed  me  all  her  apartments.  In 
her  bed-chamber  her  toilet  was  displayed,  consisting  of 
two  looking-glasses,  the  frames  covered  with  pearls, 
and  her  night  talpoche  set  with  bodkins  of  jewels,  and 
near  it  three  vests  of  fine  sables,  every  one  of  which  is, 
at  least,  worth  a  thousand  dollars  (two  hundred  pounds 
English  money).  I  don't  doubt  these  rich  habits  were 
purposely  placed  in  sight,  but  they  seemed  negligently 
thrown  on  the  sofa.  When  I  took  my  leave  of  her,  I 
was  complimented  with  perfumes,  as  at  the  Grand 
Vizier's,  and  presented  with  a  very  fine  embroidered 
handkerchief.  Her  slaves  were  to  the  number  of  thirty, 
besides  ten  little  ones,  the  eldest  not  above  seven  years 
old.  These  were  the  most  beautiful  girls  I  ever  saw,  all 


TURKISH    SLAVE-GIRLS  41 

richly  dressed  ;  and  I  observed  that  the  Sultana  took 
a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  these  lovely  children,  which  is 
a  vast  expense  ;  for  there  is  not  a  handsome  girl  of  that 
age  to  be  bought  under  a  hundred  pounds  sterling. 
They  wore  little  garlands  of  flowers,  and  their  own  hair, 
braided,  which  was  all  their  head-dress  ;  but  their  habits 
all  of  gold  stuffs.  These  served  her  coffee,  kneeling  ; 
brought  water  when  she  washed,  etc.  It  is  a  great  part 
of  the  business  of  the  older  slaves  to  take  care  of  these 
girls,  to  learn  them  to  embroider,  and  serve  them  as 
carefully  as  if  they  were  children  of  the  family. 

Now,  do  I  fancy  that  you  imagine  I  have  entertained 
you,  all  this  while,  with  a  relation  that  has,  at  least, 
received  many  embellishments  from  my  hand  ?  This 
is  but  too  like  (say  you)  the  Arabian  Tales  :  these  em- 
broidered napkins  !  and  a  jewel  as  large  as  a  turkey's 
egg  ! — You  forget,  dear  sister,  those  very  tales  were 
written  by  an.  author  of  this  country,  and  (excepting 
the  enchantments)  are  a  real  representation  of  the 
manners  here.  We  travellers  are  in  very  hard  circum- 
stances :  If  we  say  nothing  but  what  has  been  said 
before  us,  we  are  dull,  and  we  have  observed  nothing. 
If  we  tell  any  thing  new,  we  are  laughed  at  as  fabulous 
and  romantic,  not  allowing  for  the  difference  of  ranks, 
which  afford  difference  of  company,  more  curiosity,  or 
the  change  of  customs,  that  happen  every  twenty  years 
in  every  country.  But  people  judge  of  travellers  exactly 
with  the  same  candour,  good  nature,  and  impartiality, 
they  judge  of  their  neighbours  upon  all  occasions.  For 
my  part,  if  I  live  to  return  amongst  you,  I  am  so  well 
acquainted  with  the  morals  of  all  my  dear  friends  and 
acquaintance,  that  I  am  resolved  to  tell  them  nothing 
at  all,  to  avoid  the  imputation  (which  their  charity 


42    LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU 

would  certainly  incline  them  to)  of  my  telling  too  much. 
But  I  depend  upon  your' knowing  me  enough  to  believe 
whatever  I  seriously  assert  for  truth  ;  though  I  give 
you  leave  to  be  surprised  at  an  account  so  new  to  you. 

But  what  would  you  say  if  I  told  you,  that  I  have  been 
in  a  harem,  where  the  winter  apartment  was  wainscoted 
with  inlaid  work  of  mother-of-pearl,  ivory  of  different 
colours,  and  olive-wood,  exactly  like  the  little  boxes  you 
have  seen  brought  out  of  this  country  ;  and  those  rooms 
designed  for  summer,  the  walls  all  crusted  with  japan 
china,  the  roofs  gilt  and  the  floors  spread  with  the 
finest  Persian  carpets  ?  Yet  there  is  nothing  more 
true  ;  such  is  the  palace  of  my  lovely  friend,  the  fair 
Fatima,  whom  I  was  acquainted  with  at  Adrianople.  I 
went  to  visit  her  yesterday  ;  and,  if  possible,  she  appeared 
to  be  handsomer  than  before.  She  met  me  at  the  door 
of  her  chamber,  and,  giving  me  her  hand  with  the  best 
grace  in  the  world — "  You  Christian  ladies,"  said  she, 
with  a  smile  that  made  her  as  handsome  as  an  angel, 
"  have  the  reputation  of  inconstancy,  and  I  did  not 
expect,  whatever  goodness  you  expressed  for  me  at 
Adrianople,  that  I  should  ever  see  you  again.  But  I 
am  now  convinced  that  I  have  really  the  happiness  of 
pleasing  you  ;  and,  if  you  knew  how  I  speak  of  you 
amongst  our  ladies,  you  would  be  assured  that  you  do 
me  justice  if  you  think  me  your  friend."  She  placed 
me  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  I  spent  the  afternoon 
in  her  conversation,  with  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the 
world. 

The  Sultana  Hafiten  is,  what  one  would  naturally 
expect  to  find  a  Turkish  lady,  willing  to  oblige,  but  not 
knowing  how  to  go  about  it ;  and  it  is  easy  to  see  in  her 
manner,  that  she  has  lived  secluded  from  the  world. 


TURKISH    COMPLIMENTS  43 

But  Fatima  has  all  the  politeness  and  good  breeding  of 
a  court ;  with  an  air  that  inspires,  at  once,  respect  and 
tenderness  ;  and  now  I  understand  her  language,  I  find 
her  wit  as  engaging  as  her  beauty.  She  is  very  curious 
after  the  manners  of  other  countries,  and  has  not  the 
partiality  for  her  own,  so  common  in  little  minds.  A 
Greek  that  I  carried  with  me,  who  had  never  seen  her 
before  (nor  could  have  been  admitted  now,  if  she  had 
not  been  in  my  train),  shewed  that  surprise  at  her  beauty 
and  manner  which  is  unavoidable  at  the  first  sight,  and 
said  to  me  in  Italian,  "  This  is  no  Turkish  lady,  she  is 
certainly  some  Christian."  Fatima  guessed  she  spoke 
of  her,  and  asked  what  she  said.  I  would  not  have  told, 
thinking  she  would  have  been  no  better  pleased  with  the 
compliment  than  one  of  our  court  beauties  to  be  told 
she  had  the  air  of  a  Turk  ;  but  the  Greek  lady  told  it 
her  ;  and  she  smiled,  saying,  "  It  is  not  the  first  time  I 
have  heard  so  :  my  mother  was  a  Poloneze,  taken  at 
the  siege  of  Caminiec  ;  and  my  father  used  to  rally  me, 
saying,  He  believed  his  Christian  wife  had  found  some 
Christian  gallant ;  for  I  had  not  the  air  of  a  Turkish 
girl."  I  assured  her,  that,  if  all  the  Turkish  ladies  were 
like  her,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  confine  them 
from  public  view,  for  the  repose  of  mankind  ;  and  pro- 
ceeded to  tell  her  what  a  noise  such  a  face  as  hers  would 
make  in  London  or  Paris.  "  I  can't  believe  you," 
replied  she,  agreeably  ;  "if  beauty  was  so  much  valued 
in  your  country,  as  you  say,  they  would  never  have 
suffered  you  to  leave  it."  Perhaps,  dear  sister,  you 
laugh  at  rny  vanity  in  repeating  this  compliment ;  but 
I  only  do  it  as  I  think  it  very  well  turned,  and  give  it 
you  as  an  instance  of  the  spirit  of  her  conversation. 
Her  house  was  magnificently  furnished,  and  very 


44    LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU 

well  fancied  ;  her  winter  rooms  being  furnished  with 
figured  velvet  on  gold  grounds,  and  those  for  summer 
with  fine  Indian  quilting  embroidered  with  gold.  The 
houses  of  the  great  Turkish  ladies  are  kept  clean  with  as 
much  nicety  as  those  in  Holland.  This  was  situated 
in  a  high  part  of  the  town  ;  and  from  the  windows  of 
her  summer  apartment  we  had  the  prospect  of  the  sea, 
the  islands,  and  the  Asian  mountains. 

My  letter  is  insensibly  grown  so  long,  I  am  ashamed 
of  it.  This  is  a  very  bad  symptom.  'Tis  well  if  I  don't 
degenerate  into  a  downright  story-teller.  It  may  be, 
our  proverb,  that  knowledge  is  no  burthen,  may  be  true 
as  to  one's  self,  but  knowing  too  much  is  very  apt  to 
make  us  troublesome  to  other  people. 


Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  to  the  Countess  of  Bute 

THE    EDUCATION    OF    CHILDREN 

February  19,  N.S.  [1749]. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD, — I  gave  you  some  general  thoughts 
on  the  education  of  your  children  in  my  last  letter  ;  but 
fearing  you  should  think  I  neglected  your  request,  by 
answering  it  with  too  much  conciseness,  I  am  resolved 
to  add  to  it  what  little  I  know  on  that  subject,  and 
which  may  perhaps  be  useful  to  you  in  a  concern  with 
which  you  seem  so  nearly  affected. 

People  commonly  educate  their  children  as  they 
build  their  houses,  according  to  some  plan  they  think 
beautiful,  without  considering  whether  it  is  suited  to 
the  purposes  for  which  they  are  designed.  Almost  all 
girls  of  quality  are  educated  as  if  they  were  to  be  great 
ladies,  which  is  often  as  little  to  be  expected  as  an 


UNPLEASANT    CANDOUR  45 

immoderate  heat  of  the  sun  in  the  north  of  Scotland. 
You  should  teach  yours  to  confine  their  desires  to  proba- 
bilities, to  be  as  useful  as  is  possible  to  themselves,  and 
to  think  privacy  (as  it  is)  the  happiest  state  of  life.  I 
do  not  doubt  you  give  them  all  the  instructions  necessary 
to  form  them  to  a  virtuous  life  ;  but  'tis  a  fatal  mistake 
to  do  this  without  proper  restrictions.  Vices  are  often 
hid  under  the  name  of  virtues,  and  the  practice  of  them 
followed  by  the  worst  of  consequences.  Sincerity, 
friendship,  piety,  disinterestedness,  and  generosity,  are 
all  great  virtues  ;  but,  pursued  without  discretion,  be- 
come criminal.  I  have  seen  ladies  indulge  their  own 
ill-humour  by  being  very  rude  and  impertinent,  and 
think  they  deserved  approbation  by  saying  I  love  to 
speak  truth.  One  of  your  acquaintances  made  a  ball 
the  next  day  after  her  mother  died,  to  show  she  was 
sincere.  I  believe  your  own  reflection  will  furnish  you 
with  but  too  many  examples  of  the  ill-effects  of  the 
rest  of  the  sentiments  I  have  mentioned,  when  too 
warmly  embraced.  They  are  generally  recommended 
to  young  people  without  limits  or  distinction,  and  this 
prejudice  hurries  them  into  great  misfortunes,  while 
they  are  applauding  themselves  in  the  noble  practice 
(as  they  fancy)  of  very  eminent  virtues. 

I  cannot  help  adding  (out  of  my  real  affection  to 
you),  I  wish  you  would  moderate  that  fondness  you  have 
for  your  children.  I  do  not  mean  you  should  abate 
any  part  of  your  care,  or  not  do  your  duty  to  them  in 
its  utmost  extent :  but  I  would  have  you  early  prepare 
yourself  for  disappointments,  which  are  heavy  in  pro- 
portion to  their  being  surprising.  It  is  hardly  possible, 
in  such  a  number,  that  none  should  be  unhappy  ;  pre- 
pare yourself  against  a  misfortune  of  that  kind.  I 


46         LADY  MARY   WORTLEY  MONTAGU 

confess  there  is  hardly  any  more  difficult  to  support ; 
yet  it  is  certain  imagination  has  a  great  share  in  the 
pain  of  it,  and  it  is  more  in  our  power  than  it  is  com- 
monly believed  to  soften  whatever  ills  are  founded  or 
augmented  by  fancy.  Strictly  speaking,  there  is  but 
one  real  evil — I  mean,  acute  pain  ;  all  other  complaints 
are  so  considerably  diminished  by  time,  that  it  is  plain 
the  grief  is  owing  to  our  passion,  since  the  sensation  of 
it  vanishes  when  that  is  over. 

There  is  another  mistake,  I  forgot  to  mention,  usual 
in  mothers  :  if  any  of  their  daughters  are  beauties,  they 
take  great  pains  to  persuade  them  that  they  are  ugly, 
or  at  least  that  they  think  so,  which  the  young  woman 
never  fails  to  believe  springs  from  envy,  and  is  perhaps 
not  much  in  the  wrong.  I  would,  if  possible,  give  them 
a  just  notion  of  their  figure,  and  show  them  how  far  it 
is  valuable.  Every  advantage  has  its  price,  and  may 
be  either  over  or  undervalued.  It  is  the  common  doctrine 
of  (what  are  called)  good  books,  to  inspire  a  contempt 
of  beauty,  riches,  greatness,  etc.,  which  has  done  so 
much  mischief  among  the  young  of  our  sex  as  an  over- 
eager  desire  of  them.  They  should  look  on  these  things 
as  blessings  where  they  are  bestowed,  though  not 
necessaries  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  happy  with- 
out. I  am  persuaded  the  ruin  of  Lady  F[rances] 
M[eadowsl  was  in  great  measure  owing  to  the  notions 
given  her  by  the  silly  good  people  that  had  the  care  of 
her.  'Tis  true,  her  circumstances  and  your  daughters' 
are  very  different :  they  should  be  taught  to  be  content 
with  privacy,  and  yet  not  neglect  good  fortune,  if  it 
should  be  offered  them. 

I  am  afraid,  I  have  tired  you  with  my  instructions.  I 
do  not  give  them  as  believing  my  age  has  furnished  me 


PARENTAL    METHODS  47 

with  superior  wisdom,  but  in  compliance  with  your 
desire,  and  being  fond  of  every  opportunity  that  gives 
a  proof  of  the  tenderness  with  which  I  am  ever 

Your  affectionate  Mother. 

I  should  be  glad  if  you  sent  me  the  third  volume  of 
[Campbell's]  Architecture,  and  with  it  any  other  entertain- 
ing books.  I  have  seen  theD[uches]s  of  M[arlborough]'s 
Memoirs,  but  should  be  glad  of  the  "  Apology  for  a  late 
Resignation."  As  to  the  ale,  'tis  now  so  late  in  the 
year,  it  is  impossible  it  should  come  good.  You  do 
not  mention  your  father  ;  my  last  letter  from  him  told 
me  he  intended  soon  for  England.  I  am  afraid  several 
of  mine  to  him  have  miscarried,  though  directed  as  he 
ordered.  I  have  asked  you  so  often  the  price  of  raw 
silk,  that  I  am  weary  of  repeating  it.  However,  I  once 
more  beg  that  you  would  send  me  that  information. 


ESTHER  VANHOMRIGH  ("VANESSA")  (1690-1723) 

WAS  of  Dutch  descent.  She  was  living  in  London  with  her 
mother,  a  rich  widow,  when,  in  1710,  she  became  acquainted 
with  Jonathan  Swift.  When  he  returned  to  Ireland,  Swift 
corresponded  with  "  Vanessa,"  which  name  she  had  now 
assumed ;  and  although  his  attitude  was  rather  that  of  a 
father  than  a  lover,  she  grew  distracted  and  conceived  a 
violent  passion  for  the  Dean.  His  admiration,  however,  for 
"  Stella  "  (Esther  Johnson),  and  the  rumour  of  his  marriage 
to  her,  reached  "  Vanessa,"  who  wrote  to  Stella  for  confirma- 
tion of  the  report.  The  letter  was  shown  to  Swift,  who 
hastened  in  fury  to  the  unhappy  "  Vanessa,"  and  in  silent 
rage  flung  the  letter  on  a  table  before  her,  and  rode  off  again. 
Vanessa  died  shortly  afterwards  from  the  effect  of  the  shock 
of  Swift's  anger. 


48  ESTHER   VANHOMRIGH 

To  Jonathan  Swift 
VANESSA'S  LOVE-LETTERS 

You  bid  me  be  easy,  and  you  would  see  me  as  often 
as  you  could.  You  had  better  have  said,  as  often  as 
you  could  get  the  better  of  your  inclinations  so  much, 
or  as  often  as  you  remember  there  was  such  a  one  in  the 
world.  If  you  continue  to  treat  me  as  you  do,  you  will 
not  be  made  uneasy  by  me  long.  It  is  impossible  to 
describe  what  I  have  suffered  since  I  saw  you  last.  I 
am  sure  I  could  have  borne  the  rack  much  better  than 
those  killing,  killing  words  of  yours.  Sometimes  I  have 
resolved  to  die  without  seeing  you  more,  but  those 
resolves,  to  your  misfortune,  did  not  last  long.  For 
there  is  something  in  human  nature  that  prompts  one 
so  to  find  relief  in  this  world,  I  must  give  way  to  it,  and 
beg  you  would  see  me,  and  speak  kindly  to  me  ;  for  I 
am  sure  you  would  not  condemn  any  one  to  suffer  what 
I  have  done,  could  you  but  know  it.  The  reason  I  write 
to  you  is,  because  I  cannot  tell  it  to  you  should  I  see 
you  ;  for  when  I  begin  to  complain,  then  you  are  angry, 
and  there  is  something  in  your  looks  so  awful,  that  it 
strikes  me  dumb.  O !  but  that  you  may  have  but  so 
much  regard  for  me  left,  that  this  complaint  may  touch 
your  soul  with  pity  !  I  say  as  little  as  ever  I  can  ; 
did  you  but  know  what  I  thought,  I  am  sure  it  would 
move  you  to  forgive  me  :  and  believe  I  cannot  help 
telling  you  this  and  live. 

Esther    Vanhomrigh  to  Jonathan  Swift 

LONDON,  September  i,   1712. 

Had  I  a  correspondent  in  China,  I  might  have  had  an 
answer  by  this  time.  I  never  could  think  till  now  that 


VANESSA    TO    SWIFT  49 

London  was  so  far  off  in  your  thoughts,  and  that  twenty 
miles  were,  by  your  computation,  equal  to  some 
thousands.  I  thought  it  a  piece  of  charity  to  undeceive 
you  in  this  point,  and  to  let  you  know,  if  you  give  your- 
self the  trouble  to  write,  I  may  probably  receive  your 
letter  in  a  day  :  'twas  that  made  me  venture  to  take 
pen  in  hand  the  third  time.  Sure  you'll  not  let  it  be  to 
no  purpose.  You  must  needs  be  extremely  happy 
where  you  are,  to  forget  absent  friends  ;  and  I  believe 
you  have  formed  a  new  system,  and  think  there  is  no 
more  of  this  world,  passing  your  sensible  horizon.  If 
this  be  your  notion,  I  must  excuse  you  ;  if  not,  you  can 
plead  no  other  excuse  ;  and  if  it  be,  sir,  I  must  reckon 
myself  of  another  world  ;  but  I  shall  have  much  ado  to 
be  persuaded  till  you  send  me  some  convincing  arguments 
of  it.  Don't  dally  in  a  thing  of  this  consequence,  but 
demonstrate  that  'tis  possible  to  keep  up  a  correspon- 
dence between  friends  though  in  different  worlds,  and 
assure  one  another,  as  I  do  you,  that  I  am  your  most 
obedient  and  most  humble  servant, 

E.  VANHOMRIGH. 


Esther  Vanhomrigh  to  Jonathan  Swift 

— Cad — you  are  good  beyond  expression,  and  I  will 
never  quarrel  again  if  I  can  help  it ;  but,  with  sub- 
mission, 'tis  you  that  are  so  hard  to  be  pleased,  though 
you  complain  of  me.  I  thought  the  last  letter  I  wrote 
you  was  obscure  and  constrained  enough.  I  took  pains 
to  write  it  after  your  manner  ;  it  would  have  been  much 
easier  for  me  to  have  wrote  otherwise.  I  am  not  so 
unreasonable  as  to  expect  you  should  keep  your  word 
to  a  day,  but  six  or  seven  days  are  great  odds.  Why 

4 


50  ESTHER   VANHOMRIGH 

should  your  apprehensions  for  Molkin  hinder  you  from 
writing  to  me  ?  I  think  you  should  have  wrote  the 
sooner  to  have  comforted  me.  Molkin  is  better,  but 
in  a  very  weak  way.  Though  those  who  saw  me  told 
you  nothing  of  my  illness,  I  do  assure  you  I  was  for 
twenty-four  hours  as  ill  as  'twas  possible  to  be,  and  live. 
You  wrong  me  when  you  say  I  did  not  find  that  you 
answered  my  questions  to  my  satisfaction.  What  I 
said  was,  I  had  asked  those  questions  as  you  bid,  but 
could  not  find  them  answered  to  my  satisfaction.  How 
could  they  be  answered  in  absence,  since  Somnus  is  not 
my  friend  ?  We  have  had  a  vast  deal  of  thunder  and 
lightning — where  do  you  think  I  wished  to  be  then  ? 
And  do  you  think  that  was  the  only  time  I  wished  so 
since  I  saw  you  ?  I  am  sorry  my  jealousy  should  hinder 
you  from  writing  more  love-letters  ;  for  I  must  chide 
sometimes,  and  I  wish  I  could  gain  by  it  at  this  instant, 
as  I  have  done  and  hope  to  do.  Is  my  dating  my  letter 
wrong  the  only  sign  of  my  being  in  love  ?  Pray  tell  me, 
did  not  you  wish  to  come  where  that  road  to  the  left 
would  have  led  you  ?  I  am  mightily  pleased  to  hear  you 
talk  of  being  in  a  huff  ;  'tis  the  first  time  you  ever  told 
me  so.  I  wish  I  could  see  you  in  one.  I  am  now  as 
happy  as  I  can  be  without  seeing — Cad.  I  beg  you  will 
continue  happiness  to  your  own  Skinage. 


A.  G. 

A.  G.  was  at  one  time  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Granville,  a  relative 
of  Mrs.  Delany.  In  these  letters  she  is  writing  to  a  friend 
in  his  service  at  Calwich.  There  is  no  clue  to  her  identity, 
but  her  letters  are  curious  and  entertaining  and  show  con- 
siderable interest  in  current  affairs. 


A    WITTY    SERVING-MAID  51 

To  her  friend  Martha,  at  Calwich 

THE    WESTMINSTER    FOX 

December  12,   1745. 

Indeed,  my  good  friend  Martha,  you  send  me  so 
many  fine  presents  that  I  shall  blind  myself  with 
thanking  you,  or  what  will  be  almost  as  bad,  kill  myself 
with  eating  them.  Such  a  turkey !  O  how  mon- 
strously I  did  eate,  and  to  be  sure  it  lasted  me  more 
meals  than  one  ;  though  I  did  give  Mrs.  Donellan  a 
bitt.  She  sends  her  compliments  to  master,  and 
desires  you  will  tell  him  that  he  is  sadly  wanted  in 
town,  and  upon  my  word  I  long  to  see  him  more  than 
I  will  say.  We  have  terible  cold  weather  ;  I  have 
been  half  froze.  I  realy  think  I  shou'd  not  have  lived 
last  week  if  you  had  not  sent  me  the  good  turkey  to 
eate :  it  kept  the  frost  out  of  my  stomach.  I  honour 
Toby  for  killing  so  many  ratts,  and  I  am  re  joyed  to 
think  the  fox  is  killed  ;  I  wish  you  could  kill  ten  more, 
and  then  the  skins  would  make  me  a  gown.  But 
can  you  tell  me  how  you  catched  him,  for  here  is  the 
greatest  devil  of  a  fox  at  present  hanging  about  St. 
George's  and  Westminster  that  was  ever  known  any- 
where ;  he  destroys  everything  he  comes  near,  beast 
and  bird  ;  some  people  think  he  has  brought  to  his 
den  the  very  king  of  beasts  ;  he  does  not  kill  them  all, 
for  he  could  not  eate  so  many,  but  he  makes  them 
destroy  one  another.  He  has  a  cunning  way  of  drawing 
them  all  about  him,  and  they  say  he  has  a  kind  of 
glittering  dust  in  his  brush  that  he  shakes  when  they 
are  near  him,  and  the  dust  flies  into  all  their  eyes, 
and  from  that  time  they  do  nothing  but  devour  and 
eate  one  another,  and  he  does  not  forget  to  make  them 


52  A.    G. 

bring  tit-bitts  and  good  morsels  to  put  in  his  own  maw. 
He  has  been  hunted  these  two  or  three  winters  furiously, 
traps  and  gins  of  all  sorts  set,  but  he  has  not  yet  been 
catched.  Now,  dear  Martha,  if  you  can  put  me  in  a 
way  how  to  catch  him  I  wou'd  cut  off  his  tail  and  put 
an  end  to  his  shaking  that  cursed  shining  dust  about, 
and  pull  out  both  his  eyes,  then  you  and  I  wou'd  carry 
him  about  for  a  shew ;  we  shou'd  get  a  power  of  money 
by  him  at  sixpence  a  piece.  I  am  told  there  is  not 
one  county  in  England  where  he  has  not  sent  some  of 
his  own  breed  to,  and  has  given  them  some  of  this 
more  than  accursed  dust,  with  which  they  do  more 
mischief  than  any  beast  alive  has  ever  done.  Maybe 
it  is  one  of  them  you  have  killed  for  fear*it  shou'd  burry 
his  brush  deep  in  the  earth  for  fear  of  this  same  dust ; 
and  have  a  care  of  your  own  eyes,  and  I  beg  master 
will  take  care  of  his,  for  they  say  it  may  do  Christians' 
eyes  harm  as  well  as  others. 

The  King  of  Prussia  is  well,  and  going  into  winter 
quarters  :  he  says  he  will  knock  all  their  heads  together 
in  the  spring,  and  /  hope  he  will. 

I  have  no  news.     My  duty  to  master,  and  tel  him  I  pro- 

digously  wish  he  wou'd  come  to  town  this  bad  weather, 

I  hope  you  will  take  care  and  keep  yourself  warm  this 

winter.     Mrs.  Donellan  is  remembered  to  you,  and  I  am, 

Dear  Martha,  sincerely  yours, 

A.  G. 

A.  G.  to  her  friend  Martha  at  Calwich 

HOT    WEATHER    RECIPES 

August  1745. 

Indeed,  my  good  friend  Martha,  it  has  been  a  deadly 
while  I  have  taken  to  answer  your  kind  letter,  but 


HOT    WEATHER    RECIPES  53 

what  can  a  body  doe  with  one  eye,  and  that  a  very 
bad  one.  Moreover,  my  hand  shakes  like  any  aspen 
leafe,  and  I  have  not  been  well  all  summer.  I  have 
a  pain  in  my  shoulder  on  one  side,  and  a  pain  in  my 
elbow  on  the  other  ;  much  pain  and  very  lame  of  my 
knees,  and  ankcles  ;  when  I  walk,  it  is  like  an  elephant, 
without  bending  a  joint.  O  how  I  grunt  and  groan 
night  and  day  !  I  will  take  my  oath  I  would  rather 
be  an  otter  than  an  old  woman  ;  but  you  do  not  know 
what  it  is  to  be  old  !  You  are  capering  about  in  your 
fine  cardinals,  and  things,  like  a  girl  of  twenty.  I 
suppose  you  are  about  geting  a  good  husband.  I  was 
told  so,  and  much  good  may  it  doe  you,  if  he  gives  you 
a  hearty  thrashing  now  and  then.  I  wish  you  wou'd 
tell  me  who  he  is  ;  write  me  word  what  his  name  is. 
But  I  hope  this  affair  do  not  make  you  forget  the  dear 
piggs,  and  turkeys,  and  geese  and  ducks  ;  send  me 
word  if  they  be  in  good  heart  and  thriving.  And  what 
is  master  doing  ?  Is  he  smothered  amongst  the  lime 
and  bricks  ?  or  has  he  got  his  work  done,  and  laid 
himself  down  upon  the  gazy  hill,  to  take  breath  a 
little  ?  This  furious  hott  weather — I  never  felt  such 
in  my  life.  Tel  him,  that  is,  if  he  have  outlived  it 
that  I  have  thought  forty  times  to  come  to  Calwich, 
and  live  in  the  river  amongst  the  otters,  and  lye  titely 
with  them  and  try  whether  they  or  I  should  eat  the 
most  carps  ;  and  I  believe  I  should  have  come,  if  a 
thought  had  not  changed  in  my  head,  that  there  might 
come  at  once  a  hundred  about  me,  and  eate  me  up, 
in  stead  of  a  perch.  You  know  I  am  a  little  slimikin 
thing,  not  unlike  a  perch  or  an  eel,  both  which  they 
like,  and  might  easily  misstake  and  pick  my  bones  in 
a  moment ;  so  I  chous  to  stay  and  be  broyled  at  Ful- 


54  A.    G. 

ham.  But  I  have  been  so  taken  up  with  your  intended 
marriage,  and  my  owne  history,  that  I  have  not  said 
a  word  of  Mrs.  Donellan,  who  is  nearer  my  heart 
than  any  other  thing;  even  the  King,  his  owne  self  I 
do  not  love  half  so  well  !  Ask  master  if  that  be  not 
saying  a  great  deal,  and  tell  him,  as  he  remembers 
he  left  her  much  out  of  order  in  London,  that  she  grew 
worse  every  day  till  we  came  to  Fulham.  At  that 
time  she  was  scarce  able  to  get  on  horse  back  ;  however, 
she  did,  and  rid  every  day,  with  which  she  mended 
considerably  til  the  violent  hott  wether  came,  which 
made  it  impossible  for  any  body  to  ride,  the  heat  and 
the  dust  was  so  powerfull.  She  has  not  been  on  horse 
back  near  a  month,  and  is  not  so  well ;  very  restless 
nights,  and  her  cough  bad.  Thank  God,  yesterday 
the  weather  changed,  and  brought  us  some  rain,  not 
before  it  was  wanted,  for  this  part  of  the  world  was 
quite  burned  up  ;  no  grass  to  be  seen,  but  the  corn 
extreme  fine,  and  ready  to  reap.  If  it  please  God  to 
send  us  a  good  harvest  we  shall  have  great  plenty 
of  that.  How  has  the  season  been  with  you  ?  Have 
you  any  fruit  ?  We  have  not  as  much  as  curans  fitt 
to  make  a  little  wine  with.  Well,  I  wish  you  wou'd 
let  me  know  what  master  is  doing.  Has  he  finished 
his  house,  done  all  he  has  to  doe,  and  got  rid  of  his 
workmen  ?  Surely,  I  thought,  he  wou'd  have  been 
in  London  before  now,  and  have  got  a  new  gown  on 
purpose,  thinking  to  see  all  the  prime  youth  of  Stafford- 
shire reviewed  in  Hyed  Park,  with  Colonel  Granville 
at  the  head  of  them — such  a  day  !  So  I  went ;  but 
when  I  found  it  was  the  Norfolk  Militia,  how  was  I 
mortifyed,  though  they  were  fine  men,  and  very  fine 
officers  !  But  what  did  I  care  for  them  ?  I  wanted 


THE    REVIEW    AT    HYDE    PARK  55 

to  have  seen  master  !  and  now  they  tell  me  your  militia 
are  not  yet  raised.  Good  luck  !  good  luck  !  What  is 
it  you  mean  to  be  so  doul  ?  I  realy  believe  in  my 
heart  master  do  not  care  if  the  French  corns  and  eate 
us  all  up  alive.  Is  there  not  flat  boats — I  know  not 
how  many  thousands — ready  to  come  every  day  ? 
and  when  they  once  set  out  they  will  be  with  us  as 
quick  as  a  swallow  can  fly,  almost ;  and  when  they 
land  we  have  no  body  to  fight  them,  because  you  will 
not  rais  your  militia.  For  my  part  I  dare  not  go  to 
the  Thames,  for  feare  they  shou'd  be  coming  ;  and  if 
I  see  one  of  our  own  boats  leaden  with  carrats,  I  am 
ready  to  drop  down,  thinking  it  one  of  the  French. 
I  have  not  one  word  of  news,  but  that  it  is  grown  cooler 
to  my  great  joye.  Mrs.  Donellan  is  got  on  horse  back 
again,  and  I  hope  it  will  doe  her  good.  She  sends 
master  her  most  kind  compliments,  and  I  hope  he 
will  accept  of  a  thousand  good  wishes  of  mine,  which 
corns  to  him  heartily.  Mrs.  Donellan  remembers 
you  kindly,  and  I  hope  dear  Martha  will  believe  that 
I  am,  her  true  old  friend, 

A.  G. 


ELIZABETH  MONTAGU   (1720-1800) 

WAS  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Robinson  a  Yorkshire  squire,  and 
the  wife  of  Mr.  Montagu,  grandson  of  the  Earl  of  Sandwich. 
She  was  famed  for  the  literary  gatherings  at  her  house,  where 
conversation  took  the  place  of  card-playing — an  innovation 
at  once  imitated  by  her  friends.  Mrs.  Montagu  was  one 
of  the  original  "  blue-stocking  "  circle,  and  the  term  first 
originated  at  one  of  her  assemblies.  She  delighed  in  en- 
tertaining the  lions  of  her  time,  as  well  as  little  chimney- 


56  ELIZABETH    MONTAGU 

sweeps.     She  wrote  an  essay  on  Shakespeare  and  belonged 
to  Dr.  Johnson's  circle. 


To  the  Duchess  of  Portland 

MATRIMONIAL   PROSPECTS 

HORTON,  December  1738. 

MADAM, — I  cannot  possibly  show  a  greater  regard  to 
your  Grace's  commands,  than  by  obeying  them  in  the 
strictest  sense  ;  therefore  as  you  desired  me  to  write 
to  you  soon,  I  have  written  the  soonest  that  was  possible. 

I  arrived  at  Mount  Morris  rather  more  fond  of  society 
than  solitude.  I  thought  it  as  very  agreeable  change 
of  scene  from  Handel  and  Gaffarelli,  to  woodlarks 
and  nightingales,  it  seems  to  me  to  be  something  like 
the  different  seasons  of  youth  and  age  ;  first,  noise 
and  public  shew,  and  then  after  being  convinced  that 
is  vanity,  retirement  to  shades  and  solitude,  which 
we  soon  find  to  be  vexation  of  spirit.  I  think  Solomon 
was  in  the  wrong  when  he  said  all  was  vanity  and 
vexation  of  spirit ;  for  the  one  succeeds  the  other,  as 
darkness  does  light,  and  especially  in  the  women  ; 
the  young  maid  is  all  vanity,  and  the  old  one  all  vexation. 
The  same  cheek  which  when  blooming  was  the  woman's 
vanity,  when  wrinkled  becomes  her  vexation ;  but 
everything  has  its  use  ;  were  it  not  for  wrinkles,  what 
prudent  maxims  should  we  lose  which  now  instruct 
us  ?  what  scandals  which  divert  us  ?  for  old  maids 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  shew  their  own  prudence  and 
other  people's  follies.  You  see  how  sententious  I  am 
grown  only  by  a  fortnight's  retirement  from  the  world. 
When  the  world  has  left  me  I  shall  speak  only  in  proverbs, 


A    CORPULENT    SUITOR  57 

for  if  these  things  are  done  in  a  green  tree  what  shall 

be  done  in  a  dry  ?     Sir  F.  D 's  sister  is  to  be  married 

to  Sir  R 1  A h,   a  baronet   of   our  county  ;     if 

the  size  of  his  estate  bore  any  proportion  to  the  bulk 
of  his  carcass,  he  would  be  one  of  the  greatest  matches 
in  England,  but  unhappily  for  her,  the  first  is  as  re- 
markably small  as  the  other  is  large  ;  so  all  she  is  to 
get  for  six  thousand  pounds  is  a  fat  man,  a  lean  estate, 
and  a  trumpery  title.  Indeed  a  lady  may  make  her 
lover  languish  till  he  is  of  the  size  she  most  likes  ;  if 
she  should  waste  him  an  ell  in  circumference,  he  would 

be   almost   as   slim   a   man   as   Sir   John   C n.     At 

present  you  would  take  him  for  a  descendant  of  Gog 
and  Magog.  As  it  is  not  now  the  fashion  for  men  to 
die  for  love,  the  only  thing  a  woman  can  do  to  give 
herself  a  reputation  is  to  bring  a  man  into  a  consumption. 
What  triumph  then  must  attend  the  lady  who  reduces 

Sir    R.    A to    asses'  milk  !     Queen  Omphale    made 

Hercules  spin,   but  greater  glory  waits  the  lady  who 

makes  Sir  A lean. 

I  hope  your  Grace  will  favour  me  with  a  letter  soon  ; 
to  write  to  you  from  hence  would  be  extremely  like 
Swift's  country  post  of  news  from  the  hen  roost.  I 
told  my  papa  how  much  he  laid  under  your  Grace's 
displeasure  for  hurrying  out  of  town  ;  but  what  is 
a  fine  lady's  anger,  or  the  loss  of  London  to  five-and- 
forty  ?  They  are  more  afraid  of  an  easterly  wind  than 
a  frown  when  they  are  of  that  age.  My  mamma  and 
sister  desire  their  compliments.  I  hope  the  Marquis 
of  Titchfield  is  well. 

I  am,  Madam, 

Your  most  humble  servant, 

ELIZ.  ROBINSON. 


58  ELIZABETH    MONTAGU 

Elizabeth  Robinson  (Mrs.  Montagu)  to  the  Duchess  of 
Portland 

CONVERSATION    AT    BATH 

BATH,  January  4,  1740. 

MADAM, — As  a  whole  fortnight  has  elapsed  without 
your  Grace's  bestowing  any  new  favour  upon  me, 
I  really  believe  you  have  entirely  forgotten  there  is  a 
forlorn  Fidget  in  the  world.  I  can  hardly  say  she 
lives,  while  she  is  so  far  from  you  ;  but  she  eats,  drinks, 
sleeps,  coughs,  and  sneezes,  which  are  all  the  signs  of 
life  some  people  have,  and  indeed  is  very  nearly  as 
much  alive  as  anybody  here.  I  wish  your  Grace  would 
consider  that  Bath  water  is  not  Helicon  and  affords 
no  inspiration  ;  and  that  there  is  no  place  where  one 
stands  in  greater  need  of  something  to  enliven  the 
brain  and  inspire  the  imagination.  I  hear  every  day 
of  people's  pumping  their  arms  or  legs  for  the  rheumatism, 
but  the  pumping  for  wit  is  one  of  the  hardest  and  most 
fruitless  labours  in  the  world.  I  should  be  glad  to 
send  you  some  news,  but  all  the  news  of  the  place 
would  be  like  the  bills  of  mortality :  palsey,  four ;  gout, 
six  ;  fever,  one  ;  etc.,  etc.  We  hear  of  nothing  but 
Mr.  Such-a-one  is  not  abroad  to-day  ?  Oh  !  no,  says 
another,  poor  gentleman,  he  died  to-day.  Then  another 
cries,  My  party  was  made  for  quadrille  to-night,  but 
one  of  the  gentlemen  has  had  a  second  stroke  of  the 
palsey,  and  cannot  come  out.  There  is  no  depending 
upon  people,  nobody  minds  engagements.  Indeed  the 
only  thing  one  can  do  to-day  we  did  not  do  the  day 
before  is  to  die :  hot  that  I  would  be  hurried  by  a  love 
of  variety  and  novelty  to  do  so  irreparable  a  thing 
as  dying.  To  shew  you  how  loth  I  am  even  to  dance 


CONVERSATION    AT    BATH  59 

a  step  towards  it,  I  will  tell  your  Grace  that  I  staid 
away  last  night  from  the  ball,  because  I  had  a  cold. 
I  shall  be  always  glad  to  live  while  I  can  see  you.  I 
do  not  expect  to  see  such  another,  for  that  might  require 
the  age  of  an  antediluvian. 

I  am,  Madam, 
Your  Grace's  most  obedient  servant, 

E.  ROBINSON. 


Elizabeth  Robinson    (Mrs.    Montagu)  to  Rev.  Dr.  Shaw, 
F.R.S.i 

A    MATRIMONIAL    HOMILY 

[1742] 

REV.  SIR, — You  will  perhaps  think  me  rather  too 
hasty  in  my  congratulations  if  I  wish  you  joy  of  being 
going  to  be  married,  whereas  it  is  generally  usual  to 
stay  till  people  really  are  so  before  we  offer  to  make 
our  compliments.  But  joy  is  a  very  transitory  thing, 
therefore  I  am  willing  to  seize  on  the  first  occasion  ; 
and,  as  I  imagine  you  are  glad  you  are  going  to  be 
married,  I  wish  you  joy  of  that  gladness  ;  for  whether 
you  will  be  glad  after  you  are  married  is  more  than 
mortal  wight  can  determine  ;  and  having  prepared 
myself  to  rejoice  with  you,  I  should  be  loth  to  defer 
writing  till,  perhaps,  you  were  become  sorrowful. 
I  must  therefore  in  prudence  prevent  your  espousals. 
I  would  not  have  you  imagine  I  shall  treat  matrimony 
in  a  ludicrous  manner  ;  it  is  impossible  for  a  man 
who,  alas  !  has  had  two  wives,  to  look  upon  it  as  a 

1  This  anonymous  letter  was  written  by  Miss  Robinson  and 
sent  to  Dr.  Shaw  the  traveller,  at.  the  instigation,  and  for  the 
amusement  of,  the  Duchess  of  Portland  and  her  society. 


6o  ELIZABETH    MONTAGU 

jest,  or  think  it  a  light  thing  ;  indeed,  it  has  several 
advantages  over  a  single  life.  You,  that  have  made 
many  voyages,  know  that  a  tempest  is  better  than  a 
dead  calm  ;  and  matrimony  teaches  many  excellent 
lessons,  particularly  patience  and  submission,  and 
brings  with  it  all  the  advantages  of  reproof,  and  the 
great  profit  of  remonstrances.  These  indeed  are  only 
temporal  benefits ;  but  besides,  any  wife  will  save 
you  from  purgatory,  and  a  diligent  will  secure  heaven 
to  you.  If  you  would  atone  for  your  sins,  and  do  a 
work  meet  for  repentance,  marry.  Some  people  wonder 
how  Cupid  has  been  able  to  wound  a  person  of  your 
prowess  ;  you,  who  wept  not  with  the  crocodile,  listened 
not  to  the  Sirens,  stared  the  basilisk  in  the  face,  whistled 
to  the  rattle-snake,  went  to  the  masquerade  with 
Proteus,  danced  the  hays  with  Scylla  and  Charybdis, 
taught  the  dog  of  the  Nile  to  fetch  and  carry,  waked 
cheek  by  jowl  with  a  lion,  made  an  intimacy  with  a 
tiger,  wrestled  with  a  bear,  and,  in  short,  have  lived 
like  an  owl  in  the  desert  or  a  pelican  in  the  wilderness  ; 
after  defying  monsters  so  furious  and  fell,  that  you 
should  be  overcome  by  an  arrow  out  of  a  little  urchin's 
quiver  is  amazing  !  Have  you  not  beheld  the  mummies 
of  the  beauteous  Cleopatra,  and  of  the  fair  consorts 
of  the  Ptolemies,  without  one  amorous  sigh  !  And  now 
to  fall  a  victim  to  a  mere  modern  human  widow  is 
most  unworthy  of  you  !  What  qualities  has  a  woman 
that  you  have  not  vanquished  ?  Her  tears  are  not 
more  apt  to  betray  than  those  of  the  crocodile,  she 
is  hardly  as  deceitful  as  the  Siren,  less  deadly,  I  believe, 
than  the  basilisk  or  rattle-snake,  scarce  as  changeable 
as  Proteus,  nor  more  dangerous  than  Scylla  and  Cha- 
ribids,  as  docile  and  faithful  as  the  dog  of  the  Nile, 


BEAUTY'S    SNAR&S  61 

sociable  as  the  lion,  and  mild,  sure,  as  the  tiger  !  As  her 
qualities  are  not  more  deadly  than  those  of  the  animals 
you  have  despised,  what  is  it  that  has  conquered  you  ? 
Can  it  be  her  beauty  ?  Is  she  as  handsome  as  the 
empress  of  the  woods  ?  as  well  accommodated  as 
the  many-chambered  sailer  ?  or  as  skilful  as  the 
nautilus  ?  You  will  find  many  a  creature  by  earth, 
air,  and  water,  that  *s  more  beautiful  than  a  woman  ; 
but  indeed  she  is  composed  of  all  elements,  and 

Fire,  water,  woman,  are  man's  ruin, 
And  great's  thy  danger,  Thomas  Bruin. 

But  you  will  tell  me  she  has  all  the  beauties  in  nature 
united  in  her  person,  as  ivory  in  her  forehead,  diamonds 
in  her  eyes,  etc.,  etc. 

But  where's  the  sense,  direct  or  moral 
That  teeth  are  pearl,  or  lips  are  coral  ? 

If  she  be  a  dowdy  what  can  you  do  with  her  ?  If  she 
be  a  beauty  what  will  she  do  for  you  ?  A  man  of 
your  profession  might  know  the  lilies  of  the  field  toil 
not,  neither  do  they  spin.  If  she  is  rich  she  won't 
buy  you.  If  she  is  poor  I  don't  see  why  she  should 
borrow  you.  But,  I  fear,  I  am  advising  in  vain  while 
your  heart,  like  a  fritter,  is  frying  in  fat  in  Cupid's 
flames.  How  frail  and  weak  is  flesh  !  else,  sure,  so  much 
might  have  kept  in  one  little  heart.  Had  Cupid  struck 
the  lean  or  the  melancholy  I  had  not  lamented ;  but 
true  Jack  Falstaff,  kind  Jack  Falstaff,  merry  Jack 
Falstaff,  fat  Jack  Falstaff,  beware  the  foul  fiend — they 
call  it  marriage — beware  on't.  As  what  I  have  ad- 
vanced on  the  subject  of  matrimony  is  absolutely 
unanswerable,  I  need  not  tell  you  where  to  direct  a 


62  ELIZABETH    MONTAGU 

letter  for  me,  nor  will  I,  in  my  pride,  declare  who  I 
am  that  give  you  this  excellent  counsel ;  but,  that 
you  may  not  despair  of  knowing  where  to  address 
your  thanks  for  such  an  extraordinary  favour,  I  will 
promise,  that  before  you  find  a  courtier  without  deceit, 
a  patriot  without  spleen,  a  lawyer  without  quibble, 
a  philosopher  without  pride,  a  wit  without  vanity,  a 
fool  without  presumption,  or  any?  man  without  conceit, 
you  shall  find  the  true  name  of 
Your  well-wisher, 

And  faithful  counsellor, 


Elizabeth  Montagu  to  the  Duchess  of  Portland 

A    COUNTRY    EXCURSION 

TUNBRIDGE,     1745. 

DEAR  MADAM, — I  hope  your  Grace  is  sensible  I  should 
write  oftener  if  it  was  consistent  with  drinking  these 
waters  ;  but  really  it  is  very  inconvenient  to  apply 
a  head  to  any  business  that  cannot  think  without 
aching.  I  am  not  singular  in  this,  for  many  people 
affirm  thinking  to  be  a  pain  at  all  times  ;  I  have  more 
discretion  than  to  declare  as  much  anywhere  but  at 
Tunbridge.  I  have  been  in  the  vapours  these  two 
days,  on  account  of  Dr.  Young's  leaving  us  ;  he  was 
so  good  as  to  let  me  have  his  company  very  often, 
and  we  used  to  ride,  walk,  and  take  sweet  counsel 
together ;  a  few  days  before  he  went  away  he  carried 
Mrs.  Rolt  and  myself  to  Tonbridge,  five  miles  from 
hence,  where  we  were  to  see  some  fine  old  ruins  ;  but 
the  manner  of  the  journey  was  admirable,  nor  did  I,  at 
the  end  of  it,  admire  the  object  we  went  to  observe 


A    STRANGE    CAVALCADE  63 

more  than  the  means  by  which  we  saw  it.  ...  First  rode 
the  Doctor  on  a  tall  steed,  decently  caparisoned  in 
dark  gray  ;  next  ambled  Mrs.  Rolt,  on  a  hackney  horse, 
lean  as  the  famed  Rozinante,  but  in  shape  much 
resembling  Sancho's  ass  ;  then  followed  your  humble 
servant  on  a  milk-white  palfrey,  whose  reverence  for 
the  human  kind  induced  him  to  be  governed  by  a 
creature  not  half  as  strong,  and,  I  fear,  scarce  twice 
as  wise  as  himself.  By  this  enthusiasm  of  his,  rather 
than  my  own  skill,  I  rode  on  in  safety,  and  at  leisure, 
to  observe  the  company  ;  especially  the  two  figures 
that  brought  up  the  rear.  The  first  was  my  servant, 
valiantly  armed  with  two  uncharged  pistols,  whose 
holsters  were  covered  with  two  civil,  harmless  monsters 
that  signified  the  valour  and  courtesy  of  our  ancestors. 
The  last  was  the  Doctor's  man,  whose  uncombed  hair 
so  resembled  the  mane  of  the  horse  he  rode,  one  could 
not  help  imagining  they  were  of  kin,  and  wishing  that 
for  the  honour  of  the  family  they  had  had  one  comb 
betwixt  them  ;  on  his  head  was  a  velvet  cap,  much 
resembling  a  black  saucepan,  and  on  his  side  hung  a 
little  basket.  Thus  did  we  ride,  or  rather  jog  on,  to 
Ton  bridge  town,  which  is  five  miles  from  the  Wells. 
To  tell  you  how  the  dogs  barked  at  us,  the  children 
squalled,  and  the  men  and  women  stared,  would  take 
up  too  much  time  ;  let  it  suffice,  that  not  even  a  tame 
magpie  or  caged  starling  let  us  pass  unnoted.  At 
last  we  arrived  at  the  King's  Head,  where  the  loyalty 
of  the  Doctor  induced  him  to  alight,  and  then,  knight- 
errant-like,  he  took  his  damsels  from  off  their  palfreys, 
and  courteously  handed  us  into  the  inn.  We  took 
this  progress  to  see  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle  ;  but 
first  our  divine  would  visit  the  churchyard,  where  we 


64  ELIZABETH    MONTAGU 

read  that  folks  were  born  and  died,  the  natural,  moral, 
and  physical  history  of  mankind.  In  the  churchyard 
grazed  the  parson's  steed,  whose  back  was  worn  bare 
with  carrying  a  pillion-seat  for  the  comely,  fat  personage, 
this  ecclesiastic's  wife  ;  and  though  the  creature  eat 
daily  part  of  the  parish,  he  was  most  miserably  lean. 
Tired  of  the  dead  and  living  bones,  Mrs.  Rolt  and  I 
jumped  over  a  stile,  into  the  parson's  field,  and  from 
thence,  allured  by  the  sight  of  golden  pippins,  we  made 
an  attempt  to  break  into  the  holy  man's  orchard.  He 
came  most  courteously  to  us,  and  invited  us  to  his 
apple-trees  ;  to  shew  our  moderation,  we  each  of  us 
gathered  two  mellow  codlings,  one  of  which  I  put 
into  my  pocket,  from  whence  it  sent  forth  a  smell  that 
I  uncharitably  supposed  to  proceed  from  the  Doctor's 
servant,  as  he  waited  behind  me  at  dinner.  The  good 
parson  offered  to  shew  us  the  inside  of  his  church,  but 
made  some  apology  for  his  undress,  which  was  a  true 
canonical  deshabille.  He  had  on  a  grey  striped  calamanco 
nightgown,  a  wig  that  once  was  white,  but,  by  the  influence 
of  an  uncertain  climate,  turned  to  a  pale  orange,  a  brown 
hat,  encompassed  by  a  black  hat-band,  a  band,  somewhat 
dirty,  that  decently  retired  under  the  shadow  of  his 
chin,  a  pair  of  grey  stockings,  well  mended  with  blue 
worsted — strong  symptom  of  the  conjugal  care  and 
affection  of  his  wife,  who  had  mended  his  hose  with 
the  very  worsted  she  bought  for  her  own.  What  an 
instance  of  exalted  friendship,  and  how  uncommon 
in  a  degenerate  age  I 

How  rare  meet  now  such  pairs,  in  love  and  honour 
join'd !  When  we  had  seen  the  church,  the  parson 
invited  us  to  take  some  refreshment  at  his  house,  but 
Dr.  Young  thought  we  had  before  enough  trespassed 


CANONICAL   DESHABILLE  65 

on  the  good  man's  time,  so  desired  to  be  excused,  else 
we  should  no  doubt  have  been  welcomed  to  the  house 
by  Madame,  in  her  muslin  pinners,  and  sarsanet  hood, 
who  would  have  given  us  some  mead,  and  a  piece  of 
a  cake  that  she  had  made  in  the  Whitsun  holidays  to 
treat  her  cousins.  However,  Dr.  Young,  who  would 
not  be  outdone  in  good  offices,  invited  the  divine  to 
our  inn,  where  we  went  to  dinner  ;  but  he  excused 
himself,  and  came  after  the  meal  was  over,  in  hopes 
of  smoking  a  pipe,  but  our  Doctor  hinted  to  him  that 
it  would  not  be  proper  to  offer  any  incense  but  sweet 
praise,  to  such  goddesses  as  Mrs.  Rolt  and  your  humble 
servant.  To  say  the  truth,  I  saw  a  large  horn  tobacco 
box,  with  Queen  Anne's  head  upon  it,  peeping  out 
of  his  pocket,  but  I  did  not  care  to  take  the  hint  and 
desire  him  to  put  in  use  that  magnificent  piece  of 
furniture.  .  .  . 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  before  we  got  home,  but 
:he  silver  Cynthia  held  up  her  lamp  in  the  heavens, 
and  cast  such  a  light  on  the  earth  as  shewed  its  beauties 
n  a  soft  and  gentle  light.  The  night  silenced  all  but 
our  divine  Doctor,  who  sometimes  uttered  things  fit 
to  be  spoken  in  a  season  when  all  nature  seems  to  be 
hushed  and  hearkening.  I  followed,  gathering  wisdom 
as  I  went ;  till  I  found,  by  my  horse's  stumbling, 
that  I  was  in  a  bad  road,  and  that  the  blind  was  leading 
the  blind  ;  so  I  placed  my  servant  between  the  Dr. 
and  myself,  which  he  not  perceiving,  went  on  in  a  most 
philosophical  strain,  to  the  great  amazement  of  my 
poor  clown  of  a  servant,  who  not  being  wrought  up  to 
any  pitch  of  enthusiasm,  nor  making  any  answer  at 
all  to  all  the  fine  things  he  heard,  the  Doctor  wondering 
I  was  dumb,  and  grieving  I  was  so  stupid,  looked  round, 

5 


66  ELIZABETH    MONTAGU 

declaring  his  surprize,  and  desired  the  man  to  trot  on 
before  ;    and  thus  did  we  return  to  Tunbridge  Wells. 

I  am,  Madam, 
Your  Grace's  most  affectionate  and  obedient 

E.  MONTAGU. 


Elizabeth  Montagu  to  the  Duchess  of  Portland 

TAKING    THE    CURE 

BATH,   1748. 

MADAM, — I  thank  your  Grace  a  thousand  times  for 
your  kind  letter  ;  but  why  will  my  Lord  Duke  persevere 
in  the  gout  ?  Pray  tell  his  Grace  it  is  a  shame  he 
should  use  a  crutch  while  his  grand-mamma  trips  like 
a  roe-buck ;  she  has  been  more  than  parboiled  in 
Medea's  kettle,  and  without  the  help  of  a  Jason  too, 
without  which  few  dowagers  look  so  snug.  Mrs. 
Honywood  has  lost  her  new  husband  ;  the  Fates  will 
make  her  a  widow,  in  spite  of  her  haste  to  be  a  wife.  .  .  . 
We  are  too  dull  here  to  furnish  any  news  or  scandal. 
Whisk,  and  the  noble  game  of  E.O.,  employ  the  evening  ; 
three  glasses  of  water,  a  toasted  roll,  a  Bath  cake, 
and  a  cold  walk,  the  mornings.  I  cannot  say  I  have 
yet  dared  to  cast  a  hope  towards  London  ;  my  physician 
says  three  months  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  drink 
the  waters.  My  constitution  may  perhaps  be  still 
more  tardy  ;  I  have  yet  been  here  but  about  five  weeks, 
so  half  my  time  is  not  expired.  ...  I  am  forced  to  dine 
by  myself,  not  being  yet  able  to  bear  the  smell  of  what 
common  mortals  call  a  dinner  ;  as  yet  I  live  with  the 
fairies.  I  am  much  obliged  to  those  who  told  your 
Grace  I  was  coming  to  town,  as  they  said  something 
I  should  be  glad  to  have  true  ;  but  here  is  another 


BATHj  REMEDIES  67 

Miss  Montagu  who  is  like  me,  hath  a  long  nose,  a  pale 
face,  thin  cheeks,  and  also,  I  believe,  diets  with  fairies, 
and  she  is  much  better  than  when  she  came,  and  many 
people  give  me  the  honour  of  her  recovery. 

I  am,  Madam, 
Your  Grace's  most  obliged,  most  faithful 

E.  M. 


Elizabeth  Montagu  to  Elizabeth  Carter 

PUBLIC   SPECTACLES 

[1760.] 

...  I  have  long  been  sorry  to  see  the  best  of  our 
sex  running  continually  after  public  spectacles  and 
diversions,  to  the  ruin  of  their  health  and  understandings, 
and  neglect  of  all  domestic  duties ;  but  I  own  the 
late  instance  of  their  going  to  hear  Lord  Ferrers *s 
sentence  particularly  provoked  me.  The  ladies  crowded 
to  the  House  of  Lords  to  see  a  wretch  brought  loaded 
with  crime  and  shame  to  the  bar,  to  hear  sentence 
of  a  cruel  and  ignominious  death,  which,  considering 
only  this  world,  cast  shame  back  on  his  ancestors, 
and  all  his  succeeding  family.  There  was  in  this  case 
everything  that  could  disgrace  human  nature  and 
civil  distinctions  ;  but  it  was  a  sight,  and  in  spite  of 
all  pretence  to  tenderness  and  delicacy,  they  were 
adorned  with  jewels,  and  laughing  and  gay,  to  see 
their  fellow-creature  in  the  most  horrid  situation, 
making  a  sad  end  of  this  life,  and  in  fearful  expectation 
of  the  commencement  of  another.  These  ladies  would 
be  angry  if  one  could  suppose  they  would  delight  to 
see  the  blows  and  cuts  boxers  or  back-sword  champions 
give  each  other,  yet  honour,  spirit,  and  courage  animate 


68  ELIZABETH   MONTAGU 

these  combatants  ;  nothing  but  a  criminal  insensibility, 
the  most  wicked  hardness  of  heart,  could  support  Lord 
Ferrers  under  his  crime  and  disgrace.  Can  one  wonder 
that  mistaken  piety  can  make  people  spectators  of  the 
horrors  of  an  auto-da-fe,  when  the  love  of  spectacles 
can  carry  women  to  see  a  murderer  receive  sentence  ? 
If  I  had  been  one  of  his  judges  I  should  have  submitted 
to  the  pain  of  passing  sentence  ;  but  if  justice  does 
not  call  one  to  a  scene  of  punishment,  what  could 
induce  one  to  be  present  at  it  ?  You  will  believe  Mrs. 
Modish  was  there,  though  she  does  not  mention  it.  ... 
Adieu,  dear  Madam ;  believe  me  most  affectionately  and 
tenderly  yours, 

E.  MONTAGU. 


MARY  DEL  ANY  (1700-1788) 

NEE  Granville,  was  niece  of  Lord  Lansdowne.  She  married 
first  Alexander  Pendarves,  and  secondly  Dean  Patrick  Delany 
(Swift's  friend  and  biographer),  who  is  sometimes  alluded 
to  in  her  correspondence  as  D.D.  After  his  death,  Mrs. 
Delany  lived  in  England,  where  she  was  well-known  for 
her  "paper-mosaics."  She  died  at  Windsor,  and  her  Life 
and  Correspondence  was  published  in  6  vols.  (1861-1862). 
The  Coronation  described  in  the  following  letter  was  that  of 
George.  II 

Mary  Pendarves  (Mrs.  Delany}  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Anne 
Granville 

THE    CORONATION 

SOMERSET  HOUSE,  the  day  after  the  Coronation  [1727]. 
You  require  a  full  and  true  account  of  all  the  pomp 
I  saw  yesterday.     I   cannot  say  my  dearest  sister  is 


QUEEN    CAROLINE  69 

unreasonable,  but  how  can  I  answer  your  demands  ? 
No  words  (at  least  that  I  can  command)  can  describe 
the  magnificence  my  eyes  beheld.  The  book  I  sent 
you  informs  you  of  all  the  ceremony  and  manner  of 
proceeding.  I  was  a  spectator  in  Westminster  Hall, 
from  whence  the  procession  begun,  and  after  their 
Majesties  were  crowned  they  returned  with  all  their 
noble  followers  to  dine.  The  dresses  of  the  ladies  were 
becoming,  and  most  of  them  immensely  rich.  Lady 
Delawar  was  one  of  the  best  figures  ;  the  Duchess  of 
Queensborough  depended  so  much  upon  her  native 
beauty  that  she  despised  all  adornments,  nor  had 
not  one  jewel,  riband,  or  puff  to  set  her  off,  but  every- 
body thought  she  did  not  appear  to  advantage.  The 
Duchess  of  Richmond  pleased  everybody  ;  she  looked 
easy  and  genteel,  with  the  most  sweetness  in  her  counten- 
ance imaginable. 

The  Queen  never  was  so  well  liked  ;  her  clothes  were 
extravagantly  fine,  though  they  did  not  make  show 
enough  for  the  occasion,  but  she  walked  gracefully 
and  smiled  on  all  as  she  passed  by.  Lady  Fanny 
Nassau  (who  was  one  of  the  ladies  that  bore  up  the 
train)  looked  exceeding  well ;  her  clothes  were  fine 
and  very  becoming,  pink  colour  satin  the  gown  (which 
was  stiff-bodied),  embroidered  with  silver,  the  petticoat 
covered  with  a  trimming  answerable.  Prircess  Anne 
and  her  two  sisters  held  up  the  tip  of  the  train  ;  they 
were  dressed  in  stiff -bodied  gowns  of  silver  tissue, 
embroidered  or  quite  covered  with  silver  trimming, 
with  diadems  upon  their  heads,  and  purple  mantles 
edged  with  ermine,  and  vast  long  trains ;  they  were 
very  prettily  dressed,  and  looked  very  well.  After 
them  walked  the  Duchess  of  Dorset  and  Lady  Sussex, 


70  MARY    DELANY 

two  ladies  of  the  bedchamber-in -waiting  ;  then  the 
two  finest  figures  of  all  the  procession — Mrs.  Herbert 
and  Mrs.  Howard,  the  bedchamber-women-in-waiting, 
in  gowns  also,  but  so  rich,  so  genteel,  so  perfectly  well 
dressed,  that  any  description  must  do  them  an  injury. 
Mrs.  Herbert's  was  blue  and  silver,  with  a  rich  em- 
bossed trimming ;  Mrs.  Howard's  scarlet  and  silver, 
trimmed  in  the  same  manner,  their  heads  with  long 
locks  and  puffs  and  silver  riband. 

I  could  hardly  see  the  King,  for  he  walked  so  much 
under  his  canopy  that  he  was  almost  hid  from  me  by 
the  people  that  surrounded  him ;  but  though  the 
Queen  was  also  under  a  canopy,  she  walked  so  forward 
that  she  was  distinguished  by  everybody.  The  room 
was  finely  illuminated,  and  though  there  was  1,800 
candles,  besides  what  were  on  the  tables,  they  were  all 
lighted  in  less  than  three  minutes  by  an  invention  of 
Mr.  Heideggen's,  which  succeeded  to  the  admiration 
of  all  spectators  ;  the  branches  that  held  the  candles 
were  all  gilt  and  in  the  form  of  pyramids. 

We  went  to  the  Hall  at  half-an-hour  after  four  in 
the  morning ;  but  when  we  came  the  doors  were  not 
opened,  and  we  were  forced  to  go  into  a  coffee-house, 
and  staid  till  the  doors  opened,  which  at  half-an-hour 
after  seven  they  brought  us  word  they  were.  We  then 
sallied  forth  with  a  grenadier  for  a  guide  ;  he  conveyed 
us  into  so  violent  a  crowd  that  for  some  minutes  I  lost 
my  breath  (and  my  cloak  I  doubt  for  ever) .  I  verily  be- 
lieve I  should  have  been  squeezed  as  flat  as  a  pancake  if 
Providence  had  not  sent  Mr.  Edward  Stanley  to  my 
relief,  and  he,  being  a  person  of  some  authority,  made 
way  for  me,  and  I  got  to  a  good  place  in  the  Hall  without 
any  other  damage  than  a  few  bruises  on  my  arms 


GEORGE    THE    SECOND  71 

and  the  loss  of  my  cloak  ;  and  extreamely  frighted  with 
the  mob,  so  much  that  all  I  saw  was  a  poor  recompense 
for  what  my  spirits  had  suffered. 


Mary  Pendarves    (Mrs.  Delany)  to  Dean  Swift 

MR.    POPE'S   ACCIDENT 

September  2,  1736. 

SIR, — I  never  will  accept«of  the  writ  of  ease  you  threaten 
me  with  ;  do  not  flatter  yourself  with  any  such  hopes  : 
I  receive  too  many  advantages  from  your  letters  to 
drop  a  correspondence  of  such  consequence  to  me.  I 
am  really  grieved  that  you  are  so  much  persecuted 
with  a  giddiness  in  your  head  ;  the  Bath  and  travelling 
would  certainly  be  of  use  to  you.  Your  want  of  spirits 
is  a  new  complaint,  and  what  will  not  only  afflict  your 
particular  friends,  but  every  one  that  has  the  happiness 
of  your  acquaintance. 

I  am  uneasy  to  know  how  to  do,  and  have  no  other 
means  for  that  satisfaction  but  from  your  own  hand  ; 
most  of  my  Dublin  correspondents  being  removed  to 
Cork,  to  Wicklow  mountains,  and  the  Lord  knows 
where.  I  should  have  made  this  enquiry  sooner,  but 
that  I  have  this  summer  undertaken  a  work  that  has 
given  me  full  employment,  which  is  making  a  grotto 
in  Sir  John  Stanley's  garden  at  North  End,  and  it  is 
chiefly  composed  of  shells  I  had  from  Ireland.  My 
life  for  two  months  past  has  been  very  like  a  hermit's  ; 
I  have  had  all  the  comforts  of  life  but  society,  and 
have  found  living  quite  alone  a  pleasanter  thing  than 
I  imagined.  The  hours  I  could  spend  in  reading  have 
been  entertained  by  Rollins'  "  History  of  the  Ancients  " 


72  MARY    DELANY 

in  French  :  I  am  very  well  pleased  with  it,  and  think 
your  Hannibals,  Scipios,  and  Cyruses  prettier  fellows 
than  are  to  be  met  with  nowadays.  Painting  and 
music  have  had  their  share  in  my  amusements.  I  rose 
between  five  and  six,  and  went  to  bed  at  eleven.  I 
would  not  tell  you  so  much  about  myself  if  I  had 
anything  to  tell  you  of  other  people.  I  came  to  town 
the  night  before  last,  but  if  it  does  not,  a  few  days 
hence,  appear  better  to  me  than  at  present,  I  shall 
return  to  my  solitary  cell.  'Sir  John  Stanley  has  been 
all  the  summer  at  Tunbridge. 

I  suppose  you  may  have  heard  of  Mr.  Pope's  accident, 
which  had  liked  to  have  proved  a  very  fatal  one.  He 
was  leading  a  young  lady  into  a  boat  from  his  own 
stairs;  her  foot  missed  the  side  of  the  boat;  she  fell 
into  the  middle  of  the  water,  and  pulled  Mr.  Pope 
after  her  ;  the  boat  slipped  away,  and  they  were  im- 
mediately out  of  their  depth,  and  it  was  with  some 
difficulty  they  were  saved.  The  young  lady's  name 
is  Talbot ;  she  is  as  remarkable  for  being  a  handsome 
woman  as  Mr.  Pope  is  for  wit.  I  think  I  cannot  give 
you  a  higher  notion  of  her  beauty,  unless  I  had  named 
you  instead  of  him.  I  shall  be  impatient  till  I  hear 
from  you  again  ;  being,  with  great  sincerity,  Sir, 
Your  most  faithful,  humble  servant, 

M.  PENDARVES. 

P.S. — I  forgot  to  answer  on  the  other  side  that  part 
of  your  letter  which  concerns  my  sister.  I  do  not 
know  whether  you  would  like  her  person  as  well  as 
mine,  because  illness  has  faded  her  complexion,  but 
it  is  greatly  my  interest  not  to  bring  you  acquainted 
with  her  mind,  for  that  would  prove  a  potent  rival, 


A    NOSTRUM    FOR    THE    AGUE  73 

and   nothing   but  your  partiality   to   me   as   an   older 
acquaintance  could  make  you  give  me  the  preference. 


Mrs.  Delany  to  Mrs.  Dewes 

DOMESTIC    REMEDIES 

CLARGES  STREET,  March  i,  1743. 

...  I  am  very  much  concerned  for  my  dear  godson, 
but  hope  before  this  reaches  you  that  his  ague  will 
have  left  him.  Two  infallible  receipts  I  must  insert 
before  I  proceed  further,  ist,  Pounded  ginger,  made 
into  a  paste  with  brandy,  spread  on  sheep's  leather, 
and  a  plaister  of  it  laid  over  the  stomach.  2ndly.  A 
spider  put  into  a  goose-quill,  well  sealed  and  secured, 
and  hung  about  the  child's  neck  as  low  as  the  pit  of 
his  stomach.  Either  of  these,  I  am  assured,  will  ease. 
Probatum  est.  .  .  .  Adieu. 

M.  D. 

Mrs.  Delany  to  Mrs.  Dewes 

AN    EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY   GARDEN 

DELVILLE,  July  19,  1744. 

...  I  wish  I  could  give  you  an  idea  of  our  garden, 
but  the  describing  it  puzzles  me  extremely  ;  the  back 
part  of  the  house  is  towards  a  bowling-green,  that 
slopes  gently  off  down  to  a  little  brook  that  runs  through 
the  garden  ;  on  the  other  side  of  the  brook  is  a  high 
bank  with  a  hanging  wood  of  evergreens,  at  the  top 
of  which  is  a  circular  terrace  that  surrounds  the  greatest 
part  of  the  garden,  the  wall  of  which  is  covered  with 


74  MARY    DELANY 

fruit-trees  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  walk  a  border 
for  flowers,  and  the  greatest  quantity  of  roses  and 
sweetbrier  that  ever  I  saw  ;  on  the  right  hand  of  the 
bowling-green  towards  the  bottom  is  placed  our  hay- 
rick, which  is  at  present  making,  and  from  our  parlour- 
window  and  bedchamber  I  can  see  them  work  at  it,  and 
have  a  full  view  of  what  I  have  described  ;  and  beyond 
that  pleasant  meadows,  bounded  by  mountains  of 
various  shapes,  with  little  villages  and  country-seats 
interspersed  and  embosomed  high  in  tufted  trees  : 
to  complete  the  prospect  a  full  view  of  Dublin  harbour, 
which  is  always  full  of  shipping,  and  looks  at  this  instant 
beautiful  beyond  all  description  :  these  are  the  views 
from  the  house  next  the  gardens.  On  the  left  hand  of 
the  bowling-green  is  a  terrace-walk  that  takes  in  a 
sort  of  a  parterre,  that  will  make  the  prettiest  orangery 
in  the  world,  for  it  is  an  oval  of  green,  planted  round 
in  double  rows  of  elm-trees  and  flowering  shrubs,  with 
little  grass  walks  between  them,  which  will  give  a 
good  shelter  to  exotics.  The  terrace  I  just  mentioned 
is  bounded  at  one  end  by  a  wall  of  good  fruit,  in  which 
there  is  a  door  that  leads  to  another  very  large  handsome 
terrace-walk,  with  double  rows  of  large  elms,  and 
the  walk  well  gravelled,  so  that  we  may  walk  securely 
in  any  weather.  On  the  left  hand  the  ground  rises 
very  considerably,  and  is  planted  with  all  sorts  of 
trees.  About  half-way  up  the  walk  there  is  a  path 
that  goes  up  that  bank  to  the  remains  of  an  old  castle 
(as  it  were) ,  from  whence  there  is  an  unbounded  prospect 
all  over  the  country  ;  under  it  is  a  cave  that  opens 
with  an  arch  to  the  terrace-walk,  that  will  make  a 
very  pretty  grotto  ;  and  the  plan  I  had  laid  for  my 
brother's  at  Calwich  (this  being  of  that  shape,  though 


THE    GARDEN  75 

not  quite  so  large)  I  shall  execute  here.  At  the  end 
of  this  terrace  is  a  very  pretty  portico,  prettily  painted 
within  and  neatly  finished  without ;  you  go  up  a  high 
slope  to  it,  which  gives  it  a  mighty  good  air  as  you 
come  up  the  walk  :  from  thence  you  go  on  the  right 
hand  to  the  green  terrace  I  mentioned  at  first,  which 
takes  in  the  whole  compass  of  this  garden  ;  in  the 
middle,  sloping  from  the  terrace,  every  way,  are  the 
fields,  or  rather  paddocks,  where  our  deer  and  our 
cows  are  kept,  and  the  rurality  of  it  is  wonderfully 
pretty.  These  fields  are  planted  in  a  wild  way  with 
forest-trees  and  with  bushes,  that  look  so  naturally  you 
would  not  imagine  it  the  work  of  art.  Besides  this, 
there  is  a  very  good  kitchen-garden  and  two  fruit- 
gardens,  which,  when  proper  repairs  are  made  and 
they  are  set  in  order,  will  afford  us  a  sufficient  quantity 
of  everything  we  can  want  of  that  kind.  There  are 
several  prettineses  I  can't  explain  to  you — little  wild 
walks,  private  seats,  and  lovely  prospects.  One  seat 
particularly  I  am  very  fond  of,  in  a  nut  grove,  and 
"  the  beggar's  hat"  which  is  a  seat  in  a  rock  ;  on  the 
top  are  bushes  of  all  kinds,  that  bend  over :  it  is  placed 
at  the  end  of  a  cunning,  wild  path  thick-set  with  trees, 
and  it  overlooks  the  brook,  which  entertains  you  with  a 
purling  rill.  The  little  robins  are  as  fond  of  this  seat  as 
we  are  ;  it  just  holds  the  Dean  and  myself,  and  I  hope 
in  God  to  have  many  a  tete-a-tete  there  with  my  own 
dear  sister  ;  but  I  have  had  such  a  hurry  of  business 
within  doors,  and  so  many  visitors,  that  I  have  not  spent 
'  half  so  much  time  in  this  sweet  garden  as  I  want  to  do 
...  I  must  finish  with  assuring  you  of  D[ean]  D[elany's] 
tender  regard  and  my  everlasting  love. 

M.  D. 


76  MARY    DELANY 

Mrs.  Delany  to  Mrs.  Dewes 

THE   FAT    OF   THE    LAND 

[No  DATE.] 

How  I  could  run  on,  but  must  not.  I  am  called 
to  range  dishes  on  my  table,  which  is  a  long  one,  and 
consequently  easier  to  set  out  than  a  round  or  oval 
one.  The  table  takes  seven  dishes  in  length.  Here 
follows  my  bill  of  fare  for  to-day  ;  is  not  this  ridiculous  ? 
But  if  you  wander  still  unseen,  it  may  serve  as  an  amuse- 
ment in  your  retirement. 

FIRST    COURSE.  SECOND    COURSE. 

Turkeys  endore.1  Partridge. 

Boy  led  neck  of  mutton.  Sweetbreads. 

Greens,  etc.  Collared  pig. 

Soup.  Creamed  apple-tart. 

Plum-pudding.  Crabs. 

Roast  loin  of  veal.  Fricasse  of  eggs. 

Venison  pasty.  Pigeons. 

No  dessert  to  be  had. 


Mrs.  Delany  to  Mrs.  Dewes 

SEDAN-CHAIR    DANGERS 

.PALL  MALL,  January  21,  1746. 

.  .  .  Monday  I  spent  the  day  at  Whitehall  setting 
our  Queen's  jewels,  and  yesterday  we  made  our  ap- 
pearance at  Leicester  House.  The  Duchess  of  Portland 
was  in  white  satin,  the  petticoat  ruffled,  and  robings 
and  facings.  She  had  all  her  fine  jewels  on,  and  looked 

i  Endive. 


A    BILL   OF    FARE  77 

handsomer  than  ever  I  saw  her  look  in  my  life,  and 
in  my  eyes  outshone  in  every  respect  all  the  blazing 
stars  of  the  Court.  There  was  not  much  new  finery,  new 
clothes  not  being  required  on  this  Birthday.  They 
curl  and  wear  a  great  many  tawdry  things,  but  there 
is  such  a  variety  in  the  manner  of  dress,  that  I  don't 
know  what  to  tell  you  is  the  fashion  ;  the  only  thing 
that  seems  general  are  hoops  of  an  enormous  size, 
and  most  people  wear  vast  winkers  to  their  heads. 
They  are  now  come  to  such  an  extravagance  in  those 
two  particulars,  that  I  expect  soon  to  see  the  other 
extreme  of  thread-paper  heads  and  no  hoops,  and 
from  appearing  like  so  many  blown  bladders  we  shall 
look  like  so  many  bodkins  stalking  about. 

.  .  .  Coming  out  from  the  house,  as  soon  as  I  got 
into  my  chair,  the  chairman  fairly  overturned  it, — 
fairly  I  may  say,  for  not  a  glass  was  broken  nor  was 
I  the  least  hurt ;  I  own  I  was  a  little  terrified,  and 
Lord  Westmoreland,  hearing  a  bustle  at  the  door,  found 
me  topsy-turvy.  He  insisted  on  my  getting  out  of 
my  chair,  which  I  did,  drank  a  glass  of  water,  sat  half 
an  hour  in  his  library,  and  went  on  to  Lady  Frances 
Carteret.  , 


Mrs.  Delany  to  Mrs.  Dewes 

EARLY    DEPRAVITY 

DELVILLE,  January  26,  1752. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  morning  sent  the  coach  for  Mrs. 
Hamilton,  etc.  to  Finglass ;  we  all  sat  down  to  our 
different  work,  and  the  morning  past  away  in  a  tranquil 
pleasantness.  Just  before  dinner  when  I  was  dressed 


78  MARY    DELANY 

I  walked  into  the  parlour  to  see  that  all  things  were 
as  I  would  have  them.  I  found  Master  Hamilton  sitting 
on  the  sofa  pale  as  death.  I  took  him  by  the  hand, 
terrified  at  his  looks,  and  found  he  was  dirty,  and 
looked  as  if  he  had  had  a  fall ;  he  could  hardly  speak, 
but  would  not  own  he  had.  I  desired  him  to  go  and 
get  one  of  the  servants  to  clean  his  coat ;  he  went 
stumbling  along,  which  confirmed  me  he  was  hurt, 
and  I  desired  D.  D.  to  follow  him  and  try  if  he  could 
find  out  what  was  the  matter  before  his  mama  saw 
him.  In  the  meantime  the  ladies  came  down,  and 
I  was  so  confounded  and  surprised  I  hardly  knew 
what  I  said  ;  however,  I  desired  them  to  sit  down, 
dinner  being  on  the  table,  and  D.  D.  came  in  with 
Master  H.,  who  with  difficulty  seated  himself.  His 
mother  instantly  saw  something  was  very  wrong, 
ran  to  him,  imagining  he  had  had  a  fall  and  had  fractured 
his  skull,  and  we  ordered  William,  our  butler,  to  take 
a  horse  and  go  instantly  for  a  surgeon,  for  the  boy 
.  could  neither  speak  nor  keep  his  seat,  and  his  poor 
mother's  agony  was  most  affecting.  But  William 
whispered  me,  and  said,  "  Madam,  Master  drank  at 
one  draught  above  a  pint  of  claret,  and  I  do  believe 
he  is  fuddled."  He  had  been  running  in  the  garden, 
came  in  chilled  with  cold,  snatched  up  a  bottle  at 
the  sideboard,  put  it  to  his  mouth,  not  considering 
the  consequences  of  his  draught.  I  ran  with  the  utmost 
joy  to  Mrs.  Hamilton,  and  without  mincing  the  matter 
said,  "  Be  easy,  he  is  drunk  "  ;  for  I  was  so  happy  to 
find  it  was  not  a  mortal  disorder  that  I  had  no  manage- 
ment in  what  I  said  :  and  she  answered  with  uplifted 
hands  and  eyes,  "  I  thank  God  !  "  This  circumstance, 
had  it  not  relieved  her  from  a  greater  distress,  would 


MASTER    HAMILTON'S    MISHAP  79 

have  been  a  great  shock  to  her,  but  as  it  happened, 
we  all  rejoiced,  and  her  wisdom  about  her  boy  will 
make  her,  I  don't  doubt,  turn  it  to  his  advantage  ;  he 
was  carried  to  bed.  They  could  not  go  home  till  this 
morning,  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  would  not  let  her  son 
appear :  she  told  him  she  had  a  reason  why  she  would 
not  let  the  Dean  and  Mrs.  Delany  see  him,  and  ordered 
him  his  breakfast  in  his  room.  He  never  was  guilty 
of  anything  like  it  before,  and  I  hope  this  will 
so  thoroughly  mortify  him  as  to  make  him  never  guilty 
again. 

I  must  go  and  dress,  so  adieu. 


Mrs.  Delany  to  Mrs.  Dewes 

CURRENT   FASHIONS 

WHITEHALL,  November  10,  1754. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  after  chapel  the  Duchess  brought 
home  Lady  Coventry  to  feast  me,  and  a  feast  she  was  ! 
She  is  a  fine  figure  and  vastly  handsome,  notwith- 
standing a  silly  look  sometimes  about  her  mouth ; 
she  has  a  thousand  airs,  but  with  a  sort  of  innocence 
that  diverts  one  !  Her  dress  was  a  black  silk  sack, 
made  for  a  large  hoop,  which  she  wore  without  any, 
and  it  trailed  a  yard  on  the  ground  ;  she  had  on  a 
cobweb  laced  handkerchief,  a  pink  satin  long  cloke, 
lined  with  ermine,  mixed  with  squirrel  skins ;  on 
her  head  a  French  cap  that  just  covered  the  top  of 
her  head,  of  blond,  and  stood  in  the  form  of  a  butterfly 
with  its  wings  not  quite  extended,  frilled  sort  of  lappets 
crossed  under  her  chin,  and  tied  with  pink  and  green 
ribbon — a  head-dress  that  would  have  charmed  a 


8o  MARY    DELANY 

shepherd.  She  has  a  thousand  dimples  and  prettinesses 
in  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  a  little  drooping  at  the  corners, 
but  fine  for  all  that. 


Mrs.  Delany  to  Mrs.  Dewes 

THE    WHOLE    DUTY    OF   WOMAN 

DELVILLE,  April  14,  1759. 

Monday,  Tuesday  spent  at  home,  Wednesday  morning 
painted  and  repairing  Guido's  Madonna  and  Sleeping 
Child,  which  by  the  sun's  coming  on  it  is  much  hurt, 
and  shall  then  finish  the  copy  of  the  Salvator  Rosa  I 
began  in  London  :  it  belongs  to  the  Bishop  of  Deny — 
it  is  for  the  chapel.  ...  I  have  been  delayed  in  my  return 
backe  to  my  letter  by  a  little  importunate  robin,  who 
would  not  let  me  pass  by  him  in  the  portico  walk  till 
I  had  fed  him  with  almonds  ;  not  satisfied  with  a 
plentiful  repast  for  himself,  he  insisted  on  my  giving 
him  some  for  his  wife,  who  is  sitting  on  her  nest  ex- 
pecting him  ;  sometimes  she  grows  impatient  (perhaps 
a  jealous  fit)  and  comes  herself  to  see  what  makes  him 
stay  so  long  ;  he  knows  her  errand,  and  crams  her  bill 
before  she  can  chide  him  for  his  delay.  .  .  . 

I  am  very  glad  Dr.  Shuckleborough  has  got  so  plentiful 
a  fortune,  since  he  has  a  heart  to  do  so  much  good 
with  it.  You  are  very  wise,  my  dearest  sister,  in 
not  much  encouraging  the  humour  of  drollery.  I  think 
it  is  to  the  mind  what  drawing  caracituros  are  to  the 
painting  genius,  and  indulgence  that  way  spoils  all  the 
fine  ideas  of  real  beauty. 

I  believe  Mrs.  Hill  has  been  very  careful  in  the  common 
way  of  the  education  of  her  daughters  ;  they  are  in 


THE  WHOLE  DUTY  OF  WOMAN    81 

very  good  order,  and  civil.  What  I  think  L.  M.  may  be 
wanting  in  is,  what  few  people  have  attained  at  her 
age,  who  have  not  some  real  superiority  of  understanding, 
and  a  little  experience  of  the  manners  of  the  world  ; 
nor  could  she  learn  from  her  mother  that  politeness 
of  behaviour  and  address  which  is  not  only  just  but 
bright.  She  is  pretty,  excessively  good-natured,  and 
happy  in  her  present  situation  ;  but  I  own  I  think  my 
godson  required  a  wife  that  knew  more  the  punctilios 
of  good  breeding,  as  he  is  much  wanting  in  them  himself, 
and  those  things  should  not  be  wanting  to  men  of 
rank  and  fortune  ;  indeed  I  carry  it  farther  and  I  think 
that  nobody  can  do  so  much  good  in  the  world  who 
is  not  well-bred  as  those  that  are ;  in  truth  it  is  only  a 
modern  phrase  (according  to  my  notion  of  that  virtue) 
for  that  "  charity  "  emphatically  expressed  by  St.  Paul. 
Yet  refining  is  of  little  use,  where  the  wife  is  only  con- 
sidered as  a  head  servant  in  the  family,  and  honoured 
with  the  head  of  the  table,  only  that  she  may  have 
all  the  troubles  of  carving  as  well  as  the  care  of  supplying 
that  table,  so  that  her  lord  may  not  descend  to  any 
domestic  drudgery.  Our  Maker  created  us  "  helps 
meets,"  which  surely  implies  we  are  worthy  of  being 
their  companions,  their  friends,  their  advisers,  as  well 
as  they  ours  ;  without  those  privileges  being  our  due, 
how  could  obedience  to  their  will  be  a  punishment? 
Our  servants  are  not  punished  by  being  obedient  to 
our  will  ? 

ELIZABETH   CARTER    (1717—1806) 

WAS  the  daughter  of  a  Kentish  clergyman.  She  published 
a  translation  of  Epictetus  and  other  books,  also  a  collection 
of  poems  written  by  herself.  Althoiigh  a  very  learned  lady, 

6 


82  ELIZABETH    CARTER 

with  a  profound  knowledge  of  Greek  and  eight  other 
languages,  she  was  also  domesticated,  and  did  not  despise 
feminine  occupations.  She  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Dr, 
Johnson,  and  an  important  member  of  his  circle. 

To  Catherine  Talbot 

RURAL    SOCIETY 

[I745-] 

It  is  neither  business  nor  amusement,  but  a  scruple 
that  sometimes  takes  me  about  writing  nonsense,  which 
has  prevented  me,  my  dear  Miss  Talbot,  from  sooner 
answering  your  letter.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Positively  I  do  not  know  what  to  say  to  you, 
unless  I  tell  you  the  sorrowful  scrape  I  have  drawn 
myself  into,  about  love  ;  bless  me  !  What  business 
had  I  to  talk  about  things  I  know  nothing  about ! 
As  my  ill  stars  would  have  it,  I  happened  to  express 
great  pity  for  people  under  these  dolorous  circumstances, 
which  drew  me  into  a  dispute  with  an  antagonist  so 
violent,  that  she  distributes  the  words  of  fool,  nonsense, 
wilful  obstinacy,  etc.,  etc.  without  reserve,  amongst  the 
whole  tribe  of  lovers,  and  asserts  that  all  compassion  for 
them  is  misapplied  and  ridiculous.  Not  content  with  the 
first  engagement,  she  constantly  attacks  me  every  time  I 
see  her ;  I  am  not  yet  quite  a  convert,  but  I  believe  out  of 
mere  indolence  I  shall  at  last  give  up  the  point,  and  leave 
all  lovers  to  hang  or  drown  themselves  as  they  think  fit. 

A  very  imprudent  match,  which  gave  rise  to  all  these 
debates,  now  gives  place  to  the  general  conversation 
occasioned  by  the  death  of  Sir  John  Hales,  which 
you  may  have  seen  in  the  news,  but  probably  not  his 
character,  which  was  most  unaccountably  singular : 
with  an  estate  of  ten  or  twelve  thousand  a  year,  he 


SIR    JOHN    KALE'S    HOGS  83 

has  for  a  long  time  shut  himself  up  in  a  great  house, 
without  so  much  as  a  servant.  His  children  were 
not  suffered  to  come  near  him,  nor  anybody  else, 
for  if  ever  he  espied  a  human  being  near  the  house, 
he  immediately  ran  and  locked  the  door.  To  avoid 
his  being  seen  or  spoken  to,  the  person  who  went  to 
market  for  him  found  his  orders  in  a  note,  in  a  basket 
in  the  stable,  which  when  filled  was  returned  to  the 
same  place ;  the  only  conversible  animals  he  had 
about  him  were  six  hogs  almost  as  old  as  their  master, 
whom  he  fed  with  great  care.  The  estate  round  his 
house,  which  is  in  a  very  pretty  situation,  lays  quite 
untenanted  and  uncultivated ;  the  horses  and  other 
cattle  run  quite  wild,  and  in  a  state  of  nature  all  over 
the  grounds.  As  he  had  lived,  so  he  died  quite  alone, 
and  was  not  discovered  for  some  time  after  his  death. 
At  the  change  of  affairs  which  soon  took  place,  it  is  not 
to  be  told  the  consternation  and  bitter  wailings  of  the 
owls  and  bats,  who  had  for  so  many  years  had  quiet 
possession  of  several  of  the  best  rooms,  who  after  having 
reposed  for  several  years  on  down  beds,  and  velvet 
cushions,  are  now  by  the  unmerciful  heir  turned  adrift 
into  the  wide  world  to  seek  a  cold  lodging  in  a  hollow  tree. 
What  was  the  true  spring  of  Sir  John  Hale's  strange 
behaviour  nobody  can  tell;  he  was  said  to  be  a  man 
of  sense  and  letters,  and  sometimes  did  very  generous 
actions  though  in  a  strange  way :  in  most  parts  of  his 
character  he  was  a  perfect  misanthrope.  The  estate 
descends  to  his  grandson,  a  very  pretty  young  gentle- 
man, who  it  is  believed  will  make  a  much  better  use 
of  it  than  his  predecessor.  The  originality  of  the 
character  I  thought  would  please  you,  and  can  only 
hope  I  have  not  made  it  too  long.  ,  .  , 


84  ELIZABETH   CARTER 

Elizabeth  Carter  to  Catherine  Talbot 

"JOSEPH  ANDREWS" 

DEAL,  January  i,  1745. 

...  I  must  thank  you  for  the  very  agreeable  enter- 
tainment I  have  met  in  reading  Joseph  Andrews,  as 
it  was  your  recommendation  that  first  tempted  me  to 
enquire  after  it.  It  contains  such  a  surprising  variety 
of  nature,  wit,  morality,  and  good  sense  as  is  scarcely 
to  be  met  with  in  any  one  composition,  and  there  is 
such  a  spirit  of  benevolence  runs  through  the  whole, 
as  I  think  renders  it  peculiarly  charming.  The  author 
has  touched  some  particular  instances  of  inhumanity 
which  can  only  be  hit  in  this  kind  of  writing,  and  I 
do  not  remember  to  have  seen  observed  anywhere  else  ; 
these  certainly  cannot  be  represented  in  too  detestable 
a  light,  as  they  are  so  severely  felt  by  the  persons  they 
affect,  and  looked  upon  in  too  careless  a  manner  by 
the  rest  of  the  world. 

It  must  surely  be  a  marvellous  wrongheadedness 
and  perplexity  of  understanding  that  can  make  any  one 
consider  this  complete  satire  as  a  very  immoral  thing, 
and  of  the  most  dangerous  tendency,  and  yet  I  have 
met  with  some  people  who  treat  it  in  the  most  outrageous 
manner. 

Elizabeth  Carter  to  Catherine  Talbot 

SWIFT 

DEAL,  August  28,  1766. 

...  I  have  never  read  Swift's  last  published  letters, 
but  am  glad  to  find  they  will  help  to  justify  me  in  always 
having  had  a  more  favourable  idea  of  his  character 
than  most  people  seemed  to  think  he  deserved.  There 


SWIFT'S    LETTERS  85 

always  appeared  a  rectitude  and  sincerity  in  him, 
much  superior  to  the  greater  number  of  his  contem- 
porary geniuses.  His  wit,  I  cannot  help  thinking, 
was  mere  distemper,  and  for  many  instances  of  shocking 
impropriety  and  levity  into  which  it  hurried  him  he 
was  perhaps  as  little  accountable  as  for  the  delirium  of 
a  fever.  Lord  Corke,  I  think,  somewhere  speaks  of  his 
deplorable  idiotcy  as  a  judgement ;  surely  it  would 
have  been  more  charitable  to  have  considered  it  as 
the  last  stage  of  a  long  madness,  which  very  frequently 
terminates  in  this  conclusion. 

Elizabeth  Carter  to  Catherine  Talbot 

FRENCH    FASHIONS 

DEAL,  January  i,  1750. 

I  am  a  little  ashamed  of  the  savage  figure  I  make 
in  your  letter,  and  yet  I  know  not  well  in  this  respect 
how  to  civilise  myself.  Our  great  people  break  through 
all  the  sacred  authority  of  law,  and  seem  to  lose  all 
sense  of  what  is  serious  and  decent  in  pursuit  of  French 
diversions,  and  are  surrounded  by  French  taylors, 
French  valets,  French  dancing-masters  and  French 
cooks,  while  many  of  their  unhappy  countrymen  are 
starving  for  want  of  employment.  Our  fine  ladies 
disgrace  "  the  human  shape  divine,"  and  become 
helpless  to  themselves,  and  troublesome  to  all  the 
world  besides,  with  French  hoops,  and  run  into  an 
indecent  extravagance  of  dress,  inconsistent  with  all 
rules  of  sober  appearance  and  good  economy.  Little 
people  always  follow  the  example  of  their  superiors, 
and  we  misses  in  the  country  have  our  heads  equally 
turned  with  French  fashions  and  French  fooleries,  which 


86  ELIZABETH    CARTER 

make  us  break  the  law,  and  smuggle  for  the  sake  of 
getting  French  finery.  In  return  for  an  hundred 
mischiefs,  I  do  not  recollect  any  one  French  invention 
that  has  been  of  any  real  benefit  to  this  nation,  and 
so  till  you  have  fairly  convinced  me  that  French  fashions 
are  for  the  good  of  my  country,  I  shall  not  in  any  wise 
endeavour  to  rectify  in  myself  the  true  spirit  of  the 
true  original  British  crab. 

Elizabeth  Carter  to  Elizabeth  Montagu 

CURIOUS   ENTERTAINMENTS 

CLARGES  STREET,  April  18,  1780. 

.  .  .  Have  you  read  an  account  in  the  papers  of  a 
very  extraordinary  fete  that  is  soon  to  be  exhibited 
at  the  Haymarket  ?  I  should  be  inclined  to  think 
it  a  sequel  to  the  bottle  conjuror.  However,  I  heard 
last  night  of  a  lady  who  had  taken  places.  Gladiators 
and  Olympic  games  seem  an  odd  kind  of  entertainment 
for  ladies  !  But  a  still  more  shocking  scene  is  adver- 
tised of  the  inside  of  Bedlam.  It  is  a  pity  the  inventor 
should  not  make  an  additional  scene  of  the  amusing 
spectacle  of  gibbets  and  wheels.  The  schools  for 
declamation,  I  hear,  are  astonishingly  crowded.  I  dread 
the  torrent  of  impertinence  with  which  they  will  overun 
the  town.  Adieu,  my  dearest  friend. 

Elizabeth  Carter  to  Catherine  Talbot 

A    NEWGATE    MOB 

HILL  STREET,  April  9,  1769. 

There  is  something  so  seducing,  dear  Miss  Talbot, 
in  writing  to  you  by  the  penny  post  that  I  cannot 


ST.    SEPULCHRE'S    BELL  87 

resist  it.  Not  that  I  think  you  would  be  under  any 
great  solicitude  about  my  getting  home  quietly  last 
night  in  spite  of  the  bad  character  of  the  roads  ;  for  I 
reached  London  in  such  good  time,  that  if  I  had  been 
robbed  I  might  have  sued  the  county.  Perhaps  you 
think  it  would  have  been  worth  while  to  have  been 
robbed  for  the  satisfaction  of  suing  the  county  of 
Middlesex. 

I  set  out  on  my  city  expedition  this  morning,  where 
I  met  with  an  adventure  which,  I  believe,  you  will 
think  much  more  formidable  than  all  the  terrors  of 
the  Richmond  road.  I  was  to  call  on  a  person  in  my 
way,  to  accompany  me  to  the  South  Sea  house  ;  and 
my  nearest  route  was  through  Newgate.  On  going 
up  Snow  Hill  I  observed  a  pretty  many  people  as- 
sembled, but  did  not  much  regard  them,  till,  as  I  ad- 
vanced, I  found  the  croud  thicken,  and  by  the  time 
I  was  got  into  the  midst  of  them  I  heard  the  dreadful 
toll  of  St.  Sepulchre's  bell,  and  found  I  was  attending 
an  execution.  As  I  do  not  very  well  understand  the 
geography  of  Newgate,  I  thought  if  I  could  push  through 
the  postern  I  should  find  the  coast  clear  on  the  other 
side,  but  to  my  utter  dismay  I  found  myself  in  a  still 
greater  mob  than  before,  and  very  little  able  to  make 
my  way  through  them.  Only  think  of  me  in  the  midst 
of  such  heat  and  suffocation,  with  the  danger  of  having 
my  arms  broke,  to  say  nothing  of  the  company  by 
which  I  was  surrounded  with  near  £100  in  my  pocket. 
In  this  exigency  I  applied  to  one  of  the  crowd  for 
assistance,  and  while  he  was  hesitating,  another  man, 
who  saw  my  difficulty,  very  good-naturedly  said  to 
me,  "  Come,  madam,  I  will  do  my  best  to  get  you 
along."  To  this  volunteer  in  my  service,  who  was 


88  ELIZABETH    CARTER 

tolerably  creditable  and  clean  considering  the  corps 
to  which  he  belonged,  I  most  cordially  gave  my  hand  ; 
and  without  any  bawling,  or  swearing,  or  bustle  what- 
soever, by  mere  gentle,  persevering  dexterity,  he  con- 
ducted me,  I  thank  God,  very  safely  through.  You 
will  imagine  that  I  expressed  a  sufficient  degree  of 
gratitude  to  my  conductor,  which  I  did  in  the  best 
language  I  could  find — a  circumstance  which  is  never 
thrown  away  upon  the  common  people,  as  you  will 
acknowledge  from  the  speech  which  he  made  me  in 
return — "  That  all  he  had  done  was  due  to  my  person, 
and  all  he  could  do  was  due  to  my  merit."  This  high 
strain  of  complimental  oratory  is  really  no  embellish- 
ment to  my  story,  but  literally  what  my  hero  said. 
What  a  figure  he  would  have  made  in  the  days  of 
chivalry  !  In  the  midst  of  all  my  perplexities,  I  could 
not  help  remarking  a  singular  circumstance  in  the 
discourse  of  the  mob,  in  speaking  of  the  unhappy 
criminal,  that  he  was  to  die  to-day  ;  and  I  scarcely 
once  heard  the  expression  of  his  being  to  be  hanged. 
To  trace  the  cause  of  this  delicacy  is  a  good  problem 
for  the  investigators  of  human  nature. 

As  I  thought  this  history  of  my  city  adventures  might 
amuse  Mrs.  Talbot  and  you,  I  ought  to  prevent  any 
kind  concern  you  might  feel  from  the  apprehension  of 
its  having  hurt  me,  which  I  do  not  think  it  has.  I 
was  immoderately  heated  at  first  getting  out  of  the 
crowd,  but  it  soon  went  off,  and  except  being  extremely 
tired  I  am  about  as  well  as  usual  to-night,  though  not 
equal  to  any  more  adventures. 


THE    MACARONI  89 

Elizabeth  Carter  to  Mrs.   Vesey 

WORDS    OF   PROPHECY 

CLARGES  STREET,  April  17,  1772. 

...  I  know  nothing  very  remarkable  going  on  at 
present,  except  preparations  for  a  masquerade  at  the 
Pantheon.  Perhaps  you  may  think  it  one  singular 
phenomenon  in  the  present  winter  that  the  macaroni 
gentlemen  wear  artificial  nosegays.  Surely  this  species 
of  animal  is  not  an  English  character.  Such  a  com- 
position of  monkey  and  demon,  as  at  one  half  of  the 
day  appears  to  be  studying  all  the  tricks  of  the  most 
trifling  and  contemptible  foppery,  and  in  the  other 
raving  and  blaspheming  at  a  gaming-table,  must  be  an 
aggregate  of  all  the  follies  and  all  the  crimes  that  a 
worthless  head  and  a  profligate  heart  can  collect  from 
all  parts  of  the  globe.  Next  winter  may  perhaps 
furnish  a  companion  to  the  picture,  and  exhibit  the 
coterie  ladies  making  riots  at  the  play-houses,  armed 
with  oaken  clubs,  knocking  down  watchmen,  and 
demolishing  lamps — and  fainting  away  at  the  sight 
of  a  spider  or  an  earwig. 

Adieu,  my  dear  Mrs.  Vesey.  I  am  afraid  you  will 
think  this  rainy  day  disposes  me  to  be  censorious. 
But  in  rain  or  sunshine  I  am  ever  most  affectionately, 

E.  C. 


HESTER  CHAPONE   (1727-1801) 

WAS  the  daughter  of  Thomas  Mulso.  She  was  a  quick,  intelli- 
gent girl,  is  said  to  have  written  a  romance  at  ten,  and  to 
have  studied  French,  Italian,  and  Latin  at  an  early  age.  Her 
marriage  in  1761  to  Mr.  Chapone,  an  attorney,  was  followed 
a  few  months  later  by  widowhood.  In  1772  she  became 


90  HESTER    CHAPONE 

famous  by  her  collection  of  essays  called  "  Letters  on  the 
Improvement  of  the  Mind."  She  was  one  of  the  few  women 
who  contributed  to  Dr.  Johnson's  Rambler.  Richardson, 
the  novelist,  was  her  intimate  friend  and  correspondent. 


To  Elizabeth  Carter  (?) 

RICHARDSON    AND    FIELDING 

February  n  [1751]. 

You  enquire  about  Mr.  Richardson  and  his  new  work, l 
and  I  won't  take  it  as  a  compliment  to  me  that  you 
do  so.  I  expect  you  to  be  sincerely  pleased  when  I 
tell  you  that  this  charming  work  goes  on  very  fast, 
and  will,  I  hope,  make  its  appearance  ere  long.  Mr. 
R.  indeed  sometimes  talks  as  if  it  should  not  be  pub- 
lished during  his  life  ;  but  I  am  very  sure  he  will  change 
his  mind  as  to  that  particular.  He  can't  be  insensible 
to  fame.  I  believe  nobody  that  could  deserve  it  ever 
was.  The  only  objection  I  have  to  his  book  is,  that 
I  apprehend  it  will  occasion  the  kingdom's  being  overrun 
with  old  maids.  It  will  give  the  woman  the  idea  of 
perfection  in  a  man  which  they  never  had  before, 
and  which  none  of  the  pretty  fellows  they  are  so  often 
fond  of  could  ever  have  furnished  them  with  ;  and 
the  difference  will  be  so  striking  between  this  idea  and 
the  generality  of  men,  that  it  must  surely  make  them 
nice  in  their  choice,  the  consequence  of  which  niceness 
will  be  a  single  life  to  ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred.  I 
am  at  present  in  a  painful  uncertainty  as  to  the  catas- 
trophe, and  will  not  involve  you  in  the  same  uneasiness 
by  letting  you  into  any  part  of  the  story.  I  do  still 
think  that  it  is,  if  possible,  superior  to  "  Clarissa."  As  I 
*  SiiiCharles  Gandison. 


FIELDING'S    "AMELIA"  91 

can  say  nothing  higher  in  its  praise  I  will  not  say  any- 
thing more  about  it. 

Mr.  tells  me  that  you  are  a  friend  to  Fielding's 

"  Amelia."  I  love  the  woman,  but  for  the  book — it 
must  have  merit,  since  Miss  Carter  and  some  few  more 
good  judges  approve  of  it.  Are  not  you  angry  with 
the  author  for  giving  his  favourite  character  such  a 
lord  and  master  ?  and  is  it  quite  natural  that  she  should 
be  so  perfectly  happy  and  pleased  with  such  a  wretch  ? 
A  fellow  without  principles,  or  understanding,  with 
no  other  merit  in  the  world  but  a  natural  good  temper, 
and  whose  violent  love  for  his  wife  could  not  keep 
him  from  injuring  her  in  the  most  essential  points, 
and  that  in  circumstances  that  render  him  utterly 
inexcusable.  Can  you  forgive  his  amour  with  that 
dreadful,  shocking  monster,  Miss  Mathews  ?  Are  we 
to  look  upon  these  crimes  as  the  failings  of  human 
nature,  as  Fielding  seems  to  do,  who  takes  his  notions 
of  human  nature  from  the  most  depraved  and  corrupted 
part  of  it,  and  seems  to  think  no  characters  natural 
but  such  as  are  a  disgrace  to  the  human  species  ?  Don't 
you  think  Booth's  sudden  conversion  a  mere  botch 
to  save  the  author's  credit  as  a  moral  writer  ?  And 
is  there  not  a  tendency  in  all  his  works  to  soften  the 
deformity  of  vice,  by  placing  characters  in  an  amiable 
light,  that  are  destitute  of  every  virtue  except  good 
nature  ?  Was  not  you  tired  with  the  first  two  volumes  ? 
What  think  you  of  Mrs.  Bennet  and  her  story  ?  Pray 
let  me  have  your  sentiments  at  large  on  this  book, 
for  I  am  uneasy  to  know  how  it  comes  to  pass  that 
you  like  it,  and  I  do  not.  The  last  volume  pleased  me 
very  well ;  and  Doctor  Harrison's  character  is  ad- 
mirable ;  the  scene  between  Colonel  James  and  his 


92  HESTER    CHAPONE 

lady,  excellent ;  that  in  which  Colonel  James's  challenge 
comes  to  the  hands  of  Amelia  is  extremely  affecting  ; 
the  conversation  between  the  Lord  and  Doctor  Hainson, 
the  doctor's  letter,  and  the  comments  of  the  bucks 
upon  it,  I  also  admire  very  much.  And  now,  I  think, 
I  have  mentioned  all  that  I  can  praise  in  the  whole 
book  ;  but  it  would  take  up  more  paper  than  I  have 
left  to  point  out  one  half  of  the  passages  that  disgusted 
me. 

I  have  begun  to  read  Guthrie's  translation  of  Cicero's 
Epistles  to  Atticus,  and  have  not  been  able  to  forbear 
laughing,  more  than  once,  at  the  excessive  sanity  of 
your  favourite  Tully.  You  see  I  am  in  a  way  to  deserve 
your  correction,  and  pray  let  me  have  it.  I  feel  that 
I  have  not  so  much  reverence  for  great  names  as  most 
people  have,  and  as,  I  suppose,  I  ought  to  have.  Don't 
spare  me  for  this  fault ;  however,  I  am  not  so  audacious 
as  to  deliver  these  heterodox  opinions  to  everybody, 
though  I  do  to  you.  This  may  seem  strange,  as  I  am 
sure  there  is  nobody  whose  judgement  I  revere  more 
than  yours,  but  I  purposely  lay  myself  open  to  your 
reproofs,  because  I  know  I  shall  benefit  by  them. 


Hester  Chapone  to  Elizabeth  Carter 

TRAVELLING    COMPANIONS 

CANTERBURY,  Wednesday  [i75i]« 

A  thousand  thanks  to  my  dear  Miss  Carter  for  the 
happiness  I  enjoyed  in  a  visit  which  will  ever  give  me 
pleasure  in  reflection,  though  at  present  that  pleasure 
is  mixed  with  a  painful  regret.  A  thousand  thanks  to 
her  for  allowing  me  to  hope  for  a  share  in  one  of  the 


POkTESS    AND    HOUSEWIFE  93 

best  of  human  hearts,  in  a  friendship  which  would  do 

honour  to  the  first  of  women,  even  to  her  Miss  F ; 

a  friendship  which  I  can  never  deserve,  except  by  the 
high  value  at  which  I  prize  it,  and  the  sincere  love 
and  veneration  with  which  I  return  it. 

I  owe  many  thanks  also  to  your  very  agreeable 
sister,  who  seems  to  me  to  have  not  only  "  refined  sense," 
but  "  all  sense  "  and  an  excellent  genius  for  human 
conveniences,  though  she  is  a  wicked  wit,  and  laughs 
at  me,  and  despises  me  in  her  heart;  yet  I  can't  for 
my  life  be  angry  with  her  for  it,  but  patiently  consider 
that  it  might  have  pleased  God  to  have  made  me  a 
wit.  I  saw  her,  too,  exult  over  me  in  her  housewifely 
capacity  ;  when  I  folded  up  the  ginger-bread  nuts  so 
awkwardly,  I  saw  it  was  nuts  to  her  ;  but  I  forgive 
her,  and  hope  she  will  repent  before  she  dies  of  all 
her  uncharitable  insults  on  a  poor  gentlewoman,  that 
never  was  guilty  of  more  than  four  poor  odes,  and 
yet  is  as  careless,  as  awkward,  and  as  untidy  as  if  she 
had  made  as  many  heroic  poems  as  the  great  and 
majestic  Blackmore  ! 

You  were  pleased  to  be  anxious  about  my  journey, 
therefore  I  must  give  you  some  account  of  it.  My 
company  was  much  better  than  I  hoped,  and  not  a 
man  midwife  amongst  them.  Imprimis,  there  was 

Mrs.  ,  sister  to  Mr.  ,  a  very  sensible,  well-bred 

old  gentlewoman,  who  knew  my  aunt,  and  with  whom 

I  scraped  acquaintance.  Item,  a  Mrs.  I  think, 

was  her  name,  who,  I  fancy,  was  one  of  your  party  at 
commerce,  seeing  she  was  fat  and  vociferous,  and 
looked  uncommonly  joyous.  With  her  a  civil  gentleman- 
like sort  of  a  sail-maker  (for  that,  he  told  me,  was  his 
trade)  from  Ratcliffe  Cross,  very  fat  and  large,  with 


94  HESTER   CHAPONE 

a  leg  bigger  than  my  waist.     Item,   a  maid  servant, 

going  to  Lady  's,  of  a  middle  size.     Item,  a  very 

fat  gentlewoman,  taken  up  very  hot  at  Sandwich, 
and  set  down  again  at  Wingham,  who,  in  that  three 
miles,  with  the  assistance  of  the  sail-maker,  had  very 
near  finished  my  journey  through  this  mortal  life  ;  but 
her  removal  restored  me  to  the  faculty  of  breathing, 
and  I  got  to  Canterbury  without  any  casualty,  save 
breaking  my  lavender-water  bottle  in  my  pocket,  and 
cutting  my  fingers.  N.B. — I  had  like  to  have  been 
overturned  upon  Sandown,  but  thought  of  the  Stoic 
philosophy  and  did  not  squeak.  At  Wingham  we 
refreshed  nature,  and  repaired  our  clay  tenements  with 
some  filthy  dried  tongue  and  bread-and-butter,  and 
some  well-mixed  mountain  wine,  by  which  means,  as 
I  told  you  before,  I  was  brought  alive  to  Canterbury. 


Hester  Chapone  to  Elizabeth  Carter 

THE   INVITATION 

CANTERBURY,  Monday,  [1751]. 

It  might  perhaps  be  more  modest  in  me,  dear  Miss 
Carter,  to  decline  your  very  obliging  and  most  agreeable 
invitation,  but  truly  I  am  a  very  weak  creature,  and 
unable  to  resist  so  strong  a  temptation.  My  aunt 
has  been  good-natured  enough  to  give  me  her  excuse 
and  permission  to  leave  her  for  a  few  days  ;  and  next 
Friday,  if  convenient  to  you,  I  propose  stuffing  myself 
into  that  same  lumbering  conveyance  you  speak  of, 
and  embracing  my  dear  Miss  Carter  between  five  and 
six  in  the  evening.  How  shall  I  regale  upon  your  one 
dish  with  "  the  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul  !  " 


MRS.    CARTER'S    HOSPITALITY  95 

Remember  that  you  have  promised  me  one  dish  ;  if 
I  see  it  even  garnished  I  shall  take  it  as  a  rebuke  for 
my  want  of  modesty  in  taking  you  at  your  first  word, 
and  without  any  more  ceremony  making  myself  a 
part  of  your  family.  I  believe  indeed  it  is  not  quite 
right,  but  I  can't  help  it,  and  you  will  see  in  this,  as 
well  as  in  a  hundred  other  instances  when  we  are  much 
together,  how  great  an  enemy  I  am  to  forms,  and 
how  dangerous  it  is  to  tempt  me  to  anything  I  have 
an  inclination  for.  I  have  thought  of  nothing  but 
being  with  you  since  I  read  your  letter.  What  a  sweet 
opportunity  shall  we  have  of  knowing  more  of  each 
other's  minds  in  three  days  than  we  should  have 
done  in  three  years  in  the  common  way  of  visiting  ! 
You  see  I  take  it  for  granted  that  our  satisfaction  is 
to  be  mutual.  I  believe  every  civil  thing  you  say 
to  me,  and  every  expression  of  friendship  from  you  to 
be  perfectly  sincere,  without  the  least  allowance  for 
politeness,  because  I  wish  to  believe,  and  because  I  think 
my  dear  Miss  Carter  is  above  a  compliance  with  the 
fashions  of  the  world  that  must  cost  her  the  smallest 
deviation  from  truth. 


HESTER  LYNCH  PIOZZI   (Mrs.  Thrale)    (1741-1821) 

WAS  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Salisbury  of  Carnarvonshire,  and 
the  wife  of  Henry  Thrale,  a  wealthy  brewer.  About  1765 
she  first  met  Doctor  Johnson,  who  became  devotedly  attached 
to  her,  and  was  frequently  at  Streatham.  After  her 
husband's  death,  in  1781,  Mrs.  Thrale  married  Signer 
Piozzi,  a  professional  musician.  This  marriage  did  not 
please  Dr.  Johnson,  and  caused  a  break  in  his  friendship. 


96  HESTER    LYNCH    PIOZZI 

Mrs.  Piozzi  published  a  collection  of  "  Letters  to  and  from 
Dr.  Johnson,"  and  forestalled  Boswell  with  her  Johnsonian 
anecdotes.  At  the  mature  age  of  eighty  she  died  of  the 
consequences  of  a  broken  leg. 


To  Dr.  Johnson 

FEMININE   BLANDISHMENTS 

May  23,  1773- 

I  write  again,  dear  Sir,  though  the  time  of  meeting 
is  so  near,  and  should  be  sorry  to  think  my  flattery 
did  not  please  you — if  flattery  it  is,  but  I  call  it  honest 
praise.  Other  people  make  more  bustle  about  your 
merits  every  day,  and  you  bear  them  patiently  enough  : 
pray  let  my  incense-pot  have  a  place  among  the  rest. 
Mr.  Thrale  swears  he  found  you  one  morning  last  week 
in  the  midst  of  a  heap  of  men,  who,  he  says,  carried 
each  a  brass-headed  cane  in  his  hand,  and  that  they 
were  all  flattering  away  d  qui  mieux  mieux.  Surely 
there  was  not  in  the  whole  company  one  to  be  found 
who  uttered  expressions  of  esteem  with  more  sincerity 
than  myself  ;  none  of  them  think  you  as  much  exalted 
over  the  common  herd  of  mortals  as  I  think  you, 
and  none  of  them  can  praise  you  from  a  purer  motive. 
It  is  my  consolation  to  have  a  wise  friend,  my  delight 
to  declare  that  I  know  him  such  ;  nor  is  this  a  time 
when  I  can  afford  to  lose  either  delight  or  consolation. 
Should  a  man  protest,  indeed,  that  a  fever-fit  would 
be  more  welcome  to  him  than  the  detecting  me  in  an 
error,  I  might  reasonably  enough  begin  to  be  alarmed 
and  fear  that  he  was  flattering  me  grossly;  but  I 
never  did  vent  my  partiality  in  any  terms  half  as  violent 
as  those  ;  and  yet,  dear  Mr.  Johnson,  who  gravely  says 


p.  96] 


HESTER  LYNCH  THRALE 
(MRS.  PIOZZI) 

From  an  engraving  by  E.  Finden,  after    a 
picture   by    Sir    Joshua    Reynolds,    P.R.A. 


MRS.    THRALE'S    INCENSE-POT  97 

that  of  old  Celsus,  has  the  courage  to  reprove  me  for 
flattering. 

Well !  I  was  told  this  morning,  that  G O 

speaks  very  highly  of  our  master  up  and  down  ;  as  I 
believe  he  hates  us  all,  he  cannot  be  accused  of  playing 
the  sycophant ;  the  extorted  praise  of  an  enemy,  however, 
though  in  many  respects  grateful  enough,  has  some- 
what offensive  in  it  too,  like  the  coarse  perfume  ob- 
tained by  chymical  operations  on  a  poisonous  substance, 
while  the  natural  emanation  of  a  friend's  good- will 
resembles  the  reviving  scent  of  vegetable  fragrance. 
I  am  glad,  at  all  events,  that  he  is  forced  to  speak 
respectfully,  and  even  my  poor  mother  enjoys  the 
thought. 

What  a  loss  am  I  about  to  endure  in  her  death  ! 
Let  me  hope  that  your  kindness  may  prompt  you  to 
soothe  the  pain,  and  as  far  as  it  is  possible  to  fill  up 
the  chasm ;  though  you  shall  permit  me  to  add  my 
firm  persuasion  that  all  endeavours  will  be  insufficient. 
If  the  Emperor  of  China  should  take  from  one  of  his 
slaves  the  liberty  of  ever  more  tasting  water,  rice,  or 
tea,  he  would  be  very  ill  compensated,  poor  soul  ! 
by  the  free  use  of  every  dainty  his  master's  magnificent 
table  could  afford  him.  No  companion,  however  wise, 
no  friend,  however  useful,  can  be  to  me  what  my  mother 
has  been  :  her  image  will  long  pursue  my  fancy  ;  her 
voice  for  ever  hang  in  my  ears  :  may  her  precepts 
but  sink  into  my  heart !  When  fortune  is  taken  away, 
chance  or  diligence  may  repair  it ;  fame  likewise  has 
been  found  not  wholly  irrecoverable.  My  loss  alone 
can  neither  be  restored  nor  supplied  in  this  world  ; 
I  will  try  and  turn  my  best  thoughts  upon  another. 
Meanwhile,  a  million  of  things  press  upon  me  here,  and 

7 


98  HESTER    LYNCH    PIOZZI 

force  me  to  defend  a  post  scarcely  tenable.  Give  me 
your  company,  your  counsel,  and  your  prayers,  for 
I  am  ever, 

Your  truly  faithful  servant, 

H.  L.  THRALE. 


Mrs.  Thrale  to  Dr.  Johnson 

l 

HUMAN    FINGER-POSTS 

August  9,   1775- 

You  ask,  dear  Sir,  if  I  keep  your  letters — to  be  sure 
I  do  ;  for  though  I  would  not  serve  you  as  you  said 

you  would  serve  Lady were  you  married  to  her — 

live  a  hundred  miles  off,  and  make  her  write  once  a 
week  (was  not  it  ?)  because  her  conversation  and  manners 
were  coarse,  but  her  letters  elegant ;  yet  I  have  always 
found  the  best  supplement  for  talk  was  writing,  and 
yours  particularly  so.  My  only  reason  to  suppose 
that  we  should  dislike  looking  over  the  correspondence 
twelve  or  twenty  years  hence,  was  because  the  sight 
of  it  would  not  revive  the  memory  of  cheerful  times  at 
all.  God  forbid  that  I  should  be  less  happy  than 
now,  when  I  am  perpetually  bringing  or  losing  babies, 
both  very  dreadful  operations  to  me,  and  which  tear 
mind  and  body  both  in  pieces  very  cruelly.  Sophy  is 
at  this  very  instant  beginning  to  droop,  or  I  dream  so  ; 
and  how  is  it  likely  one  should  ever  have  comfort  in 
revising  the  annals  of  vexation  ? 

You  say,  too,  that  I  shall  not  grow  wiser  in  twelve 
years,  which  is  a  bad  account  of  futurity  ;  but  if  I  grow 
happier  I  shall  grow  wiser,  for,  being  less  chained  down 
to  surrounding  circumstances,  what  power  of  thinking 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    HAPPINESS  99 

my  mind  naturally  possesses  will  have  fair  play  at 
least.  The  mother  or  mistress  of  a  large  family  is  in 
the  case  of  a  tethered  nag,  always  treading  and  sub- 
sisting on  the  same  spot ;  she  hears  and  repeats  the 
same  unregarded  precepts  ;  frets  over  that  which  no 
fretting  can  diminish  ;  and  hopes  on,  in  very  spite  of 
experience,  for  what  death  does  not  ever  suffer  her  to 
enjoy.  With  regard  to  mental  improvement,  Perkins 1 
might  as  well  expect  to  grow  rich  by  repeating  the 
Multiplication  Table,  as  I  to  grow  wise  by  holding 
Watt's  "Art  of  Reading"  before  my  eyes.  A  finger- 
post, though  it  directs  others  on  the  road,  cannot 
advance  itself  ;  was  it  once  cut  into  coach  wheels,  who 
knows  how  far  it  might  travel  ? 

When  Ferguson  made  himself  an  astronomer,  the 
other  lads  of  the  village  were  loading  corn  and  pitching 
hay, — though  with  the  same  degree  of  leisure  they 
might  perhaps  have  attained  the  same  degree  of  ex- 
cellence ;  but  they  were  doing  while  he  was  thinking, 
you  see,  and  when  leisure  is  obtained,  incidents,  however 
trifling,  may  be  used  to  advantage  ;  besides  that,  'tis 
better,  as  Shakespeare  says, 

To  be  eaten  up  with  a  rust 
Than  scoured  to  nothing  with  perpetual  motion. 

So  if  ever  I  get  quiet  I  shall  get  happy  ;  and  if  I  get 
happy  I  shall  have  a  chance  to  get  wise.  Why,  wisdom 
itself  stands  still,  says  Mr.  Johnson,  and  then  how 
will  you  advance  ?  It  will  be  an  advancement  to  me 
to  trace  that  very  argument,  and  examine  whether  it 

has  advanced  or  no.     Was  not  it  your  friend  M 1 

who  first  said  that  next  to  winning  at  cards  the  greatest 

*  Perkins  was  the  manager  of  her  husband's  brewery. 


ioo  HESTER    LYNCH    PIOZZI 

happiness  was  losing  at  cards  ?  I  should  feel  the 
second  degree  of  delight  in  assuring  myself  that  there 
was  no  wisdom  to  be  obtained.  Baker's  "  Reflections 
on  Learning  "  was  always  a  favourite  book  with  me, 
and  he  says  you  have  all  been  trotting  in  a  circle  these 
two  or  three  thousand  years — but  let  us  join  the  team 
at  least,  and  not  stand  gaping  while  others  trot.  The 
tethered  horse  we  talked  of  just  now  would  beg  to 
work  in  our  mill  if  he  could  speak  ;  and  an  old  captain 
of  a  ship  told  me,  that  when  he  set  the  marine  society 
boys  to  run  round  the  hoop  for  a  pudding  in  fine  weather, 
to  divert  the  officers,  those  who  were  hardest  lashed 
seldom  lamented  ;  but  all  cried,  ready  to  break  their 
hearts,  who  were  left  out  of  the  game.  Here  is  enough 
of  this,  I  believe. 

We  are  all  pleased  that  you  intend  to  come  home  in 
a  chaise.  Who  should  you  save  sixteen  shillings  for  ? 
and  how  much  richer  would  your  heirs  be  for  those 
sixteen  shillings  ?  Calculation  is  perpetually  opposed 
to  the  spendthrift ;  but  if  misers  would  learn  to  count, 
they  would  be  misers  no  longer  :  for  how  many  years 
must  a  man  live  to  save  out  of  a  small  income  one 
hundred  pounds,  even  if  he  adopted  every  possible 
method  ?  besides  the  ill-will  of  the  world,  which  pursues 
avarice  more  closely,  and  watches  it  more  narrowly  than 
any  other  vice. 

I  have  indeed  often  wondered  that  the  bulk  of  mankind 
should  look  on  a  person  who  gains  money  unjustly  with 
less  detestation  than  they  survey  the  petty  savings  of 
him  who  lives  penuriously  ; — for  the  first  is  in  every- 
body's way,  and  if  he  excited  everybody's  hatred, 
who  need  wonder  ?  while  a  hoarder  injures  no  one  but 
himself — yet  even  his  heirs  abhor  him. 


NEEDLESS    THRIFT  101 

There  is,  however,  little  call,  I  believe  to  make  sermons, 
against  covetousness  for  the  use  of  dear  Mr.  Johnson, 
or  of  his 

Faithful  and  obedient  servant, 

H.  L.  THRALE. 

Sophy  is  very  sick,  and  we  all  wish  you  would  come 
home. 

Mrs.  Thrale  to  Dr.  Johnson 

GOSSIP   FROM    BRIGHTHELMSTONE 

BRIGHTHELMSTONE,  November  u,  1778. 

You  are  very  kind,  dear  Sir,  in  wishing  us  at  home, 
and  we  are  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  all  your  good 
wishes,  and  all  your  good  help  towards  our  happiness  ; 
notwithstanding  the  worthy  parallel  you  draw  between 
yourself  and  honest  Joseph.  That  letter  in  "Clarissa" 
was  always  a  favourite  of  mine — 'tis  nature,  'tis  truth, 
and,  what  I  delight  in  still  more,  'tis  general  nature, 
not  particular  manners,  that  Richardson  represents  ;— 
Honest  Joseph,  and  Pamela's  old  father  and  mother, 
are  translatable,  not  like  Fielding's  fat  landladies,  who 
all  speak  the  Wiltshire  dialect — arrow  man,  or  arrow 
woman  instead  of  e'er  a  man  and  e'er  a  woman.  Such 
minute  attentions  to  things  scarce  worth  attending  to 
are,  at  best,  excellencies  of  a  meaner  kind,  and  most 
worthy  the  partiality  of  him  who  collects  Dutch  paintings 
in  preference  to  the  Italian  school.  But  I  dare  not 
add  another  word  on  this  subject,  though  you  are  a 
Richardsonian  yourself. 

With  regard  to  coming  home  en  lo  que  toca  al  rebusnar, 
as  Sancho  says  ;  I  have  leave  to  be  explicit.  Burney 
shall  bring  you  on  the  26th  ;  so  now  we  may  talk 
about  Richardson  and  Fielding  if  we  will,  or  of  anything 


102  HESTER    LYNCH    PIOZZI 

else  but  coming  home  ;  for  did  not  wise  Ulysses  go 
to  sleep  as  soon  as  he  was  within  sight  of  his  own  country 
which  he  had  hunted  no  less  than  ten  years  ?  And 
does  not  the  Irishman,  when  at  half  the  earth's  diameter 
from  his  mistress,  cry  out,  Ah  !  my  dear  Sheelah  o'Sheelah, 
were  I  once  within  forty  miles  of  those  pretty  eyes,  I  would 
never  desire  to  be  nearer  them  in  all  my  life  ?  So  why 
should  not  I,  after  fretting  to  come  home  ever  since 
we  came  hither,  though  I  never  said  so — why  should 
not  I,  now  the  day  is  fixed — forget  and  think  no  more 
on't  ?  That,  says  Mr.  Johnson,  is  a  bad  place  of  which 
the  best  good  thing  is  bad  weather — yet  that  is  true 
of  Brighthelmstone  this  Autumn ;  and  last  week  we 
had  some  storms  that  were  very  sublime.  To  see  the 
ship  how  she  fought,  as  the  clown  says,  and  the  sea 
how  he  flap-dragoned  it,  was  a  fine  sight  to  us  safely 
posted  observers.  Suave  mari  magno,  etc. ;  and  what 
are  Mrs.  Williams  and  Mrs.  Desmoulines  compared  to 
the  winds  and  the  waves  ?  There  are  horn  lanthorns 
(you  remember)  and  paper  lanthorns,  but  what  are 
they  when  opposed  to  the  sun  and  the  moon  ?  Winter 
is  coming  on  apace,  that's  certain  ;  and  it  will  be  three 
months  at  least  that  we  shall  live  without  the  sight 
of  either  leaf  or  blossom  ;  we  will  try  good  fires  and 
good  humour,  and  make  ourselves  all  the  amend  we 
can.  /  have  lost  more  than  Spring  and  Summer — I 
have  lost  what  made  my  happiness  in  all  seasons  of 
the  year  ;  but  the  black  dog  shall  not  make  prey  of 
both  my  master1  and  myself. — Much  is  gone — • 

What  then  remains,  but  well  what's  left  to  use  ? 
And  keep  good  humour  still,  whate'er  we  lose. 

1  Mr.  Thrale. 


MR.    TOWN    IN    THE    COUNTRY  103 

The  speech  in  this  place  is,  how  we  escape  the  melan- 
choly months  that  shew  a  decaying  year,  because 
there  are  no  leaves  to  fall,  forsooth.  But  don't  you 
know  April  from  November  without  trees  ?  Methinks, 
wanting  woods  to  tell  the  seasons  is  as  bad  as  wanting 
a  weathercock  to  know  which  way  the  wind  blows. 

How  is  Mr. ,  however,  who  talks  all  about  taste, 

and  classics,  and  country  customs,  and  rural  sports, 
with  rapture,  which  he  perhaps  fancies  unaffected — 
was  riding  by  our  chaise  on  the  Downs  yesterday,  and 
said,  because  the  sun  shone,  that  one  could  not  perceive 
it  was  Autumn,  "  for,"  says  he,  "  there  is  not  one 
tree  in  sight  to  shew  us  the  fall  of  the  leaf  ;  and  hark  ! 
how  that  sweet  bird  sings,"  continued  he,  "  just  like 
the  first  week  in  May."  "No,  no,"  replied  I,  "  that's 
nothing  but  a  poor  robin-redbreast,  whose  chill,  wintry 
note  tells  the  season  too  plainly,  without  assistance 
from  the  vegetable  kingdom."  "  Why,  you  amaze 
me,"  quoth  our  friend,  "  I  had  no  notion  of  that." 
Yes,  Mrs.  -  -  says,  this  man  is  a  natural  convener, 
and  Mrs.  is  an  honourable  lady. 

My  master  is  a  good  man,  and  a  generous,  he  has 
made  me  some  valuable  presents  here  ;  and  he  swims 
now,  and  forgets  the  black  dog. 

Mr.  Murphy  is  a  man  whose  esteem  every  one  must  be 
proud  of-;  I  wrote  to  him  about  Evelina  two  days  ago. 

Mr.  Scrafe  is  the  comfort  of  our  lives  here.  Driven 
from  business  by  ill-health,  he  concentrates  his  powers 
now  to  serve  private  friends.  For  true  vigour  of  mind, 
for  invariable  attachment  to  those  he  has  long  loved, 
for  penetration  to  find  the  right  way,  and  spirit  to  pursue 
it,  I  have  seen  none  exceed  him.  How  much  more 
valuable  is  such  a  character  than  that  of  a  polite  scholar, 


104  HESTER    LYNCH    PIOZZI 

your  belles  lettres  man,  who  would  never  have  known  that 
bees  made  honey  had  not  Virgil  written  his  Georgicks  ? 
Your  visiting- ticket  has  been  left  very  completely 
in  Wales.  Was  it  the  fashion  to  leave  cards  in  Prior's 
time  ?  I  thought  not — yet  he  seems  to  allude  to 
the  custom  when  he  says,  People 

Should  in  life's  visit  leave  their  name ; 
And  in  the  writing  take  great  care 
That  all  was  full,  and  round,  and  fair. 

The  Welsh,  I  once  told  you,  would  never  be  un- 
grateful— apropos,  I  am  not  myself  half  grateful  enough 
to  Mr.  Fitzmaurice,  for  his  unsought  and  undeserved 
civilities  towards  me,  concerning  my  old  house  and 
pictures  in  Wales. — Though  you  despise  them,  you  do 
not,  I  am  sure,  despise  me  for  desiring  that  he  should  be 
pleased.  So  now,  do  pray  help  to  discharge  some  of  my 
debts  of  politeness,  and  write  him  a  pretty  letter  on  his 
son's  birth — and  get  it  finished,  signed,  sealed,  and  de- 
livered at  furthest — before  the  boy  comes  of  age  if  you  can. 

My  friend  is  dying,  sure  enough ;  but  dear 

Mrs.  need  be  in  no  concern  for  his  future  state, 

on  the  same  score  she  trembled  for  her  husband's  : 
do  you  remember  how  prettily  she  congratulated  me 
that  my  mother  would  go  to  Heaven,  "while  poor 

,"  says  she,  "God  knows  what  will  become  of  him  ! 

for  if  it  were  not  for  the  Mayoril  he  would  never  have 
known  Christmas  from  Whitsuntide."  Ah,  dear  Sir, 
and  don't  you  think  I  prize  you  more,  now  I  have  lost 
my  last  surviving  parent  ? — Such  a  parent ! — Yes, 
yes — one  may  have  twenty  children,  but  amor  descendit, 
it  is  by  one's  father  and  mother  alone  that  one  is  loved. 
I,  poor  solitary  wretch  !  have  no  regard  now  from 


THE    GRATEFUL    WELSH  105 

any  one,  except  what  I  can  purchase  by  good  behaviour, 
or  flattery,  or  incessant  fatigue  of  attention,  and  be 
worked  at  besides,  sick  or  well,  with  intolerable  diligence, 
or  else  I  lose  even  you,  whom  I  daily  esteem  more, 
as  I  see  the  virtue  of  some  so  diluted  by  folly,  and  the 
understanding  of  others  so  tainted  by  vice.  I  am  now 
far  from  happy,  yet  I  dress  and  dance,  and  do  my  best 
to  shew  others  how  merry  I  am. — It  is  the  Winter  robin 
that  twitters  though,  not  the  Summer  throstle  that  sings. 
I  long  to  come  home,  but  wherever  I  am,  depend  on 
my  being  ever, 

Dear  Sir, 

Your  most  obedient  servant, 

H.  L.  THRALE. 

Mr.  Scrafe  gives  us  fine  fruit ;  I  wished  you  my 
pear  yesterday;  but  then  what  would  one  pear  have 
done  for  you  ? 

Mrs.  Thrale  to  Dr.  Johnson 

AN    EVENING    AT    MRS.    MONTAGU'S 

BATH,  Friday,  April  28,   1780. 

I  had  a  very  kind  letter  from  you  yesterday,  dear 
Sir,  with  a  most  circumstantial  date.  You  took  trouble 
with  my  circulating  letter,  Mr.  Evans  writes  me  word, 
and  I  thank  you  sincerely  for  so  doing  :  one  might  do 
mischief  else,  not  being  on  the  spot. 

Yesterday's  evening  was  passed  at  Mrs.  Montagu's  : 
there  was  Mr.  Melmoth  ;  I  do  not  like  him  though,  nor 
he  me  ;  it  was  expected  we  should  have  pleased  each 
other  ;  he  is,  however,  just  Tory  enough  to  hate  the 
Bishop  of  Peterborough  for  Whigism  and  Whig  enough 
to  abhor  you  for  Toryism. 


io6  HESTER    LYNCH    PIOZZI 

Mrs.  Montagu  flattered  him  finely ;  so  he  had  a 
good  afternoon  on't.  This  evening  we  spend  at  a 
concert.  Poor  Queeney's  i  sore  eyes  have  just  released 
her  ;  she  had  a  long  confinement  and  could  neither 
read  nor  write,  so  my  master  treated  her  very  good- 
naturedly  with  the  visits  of  a  young  woman  in  this 
town,  a  tailor's  daughter  who  professes  music,  and 
teaches  so  as  to  give  six  lessons  a  day  to  ladies,  at 
five-and-threepence  a  lesson.  Miss  Burney  says  she 
is  a  great  performer ;  and  I  respect  the  wench  for 
getting  her  living  so  prettily  ;  she  is  very  modest  and 
pretty-mannered,  and  not  seventeen  years  old. 

You  live  in  a  fine  world  indeed  ;  if  I  did  not  write 
regularly  you  would  half  forget  me,  and  that  would 
be  very  wrong,  for  I  felt  my  regard  for  you  in  my  face 
last  night  when  the  criticisms  were  going  on. 

This  morning  it  was  all  connoisseurship  ;  we  went  to 
see  some  pictures  painted  by  a  gentleman-artist,  Mr. 
Taylor,  of  this  place  ;  my  master  makes  one  every- 
where, and  has  got  a  good  dawdling  companion  to  ride 
with  him  now.  ...  He  2  looks  well  enough,  but  I  have 
no  notion  of  health  for  a  man  whose  mouth  cannot 
be  sewed  up.  Burney  and  I  and  Queeny  tease  him 
every  meal  he  eats,  and  Mrs.  Montagu  is  quite  serious 
with  him ;  but  what  can  one  do  ?  He  will  eat,  I 
think  ;  and  if  he  does  eat  I  know  he  will  not  live  ; 
it  makes  me  very  unhappy,  but  I  must  bear  it.  Let  me 
always  have  your  friendship.  I  am,  most  sincerely, 
Dear  Sir,  your  faithful  servant. 

H.  L.  T. 

1  Mrs.  Thrale's  daughter. 

2  Mr.  Thrale,  who  ultimately  sacrificed  his  life  by  his  devotion 
to  good-living. 


QUEENY'S    MUSIC-MISTRESS  107 

Mrs.  Thrale  to  Dr.  Johnson 

CONFESSIONS    AND    REFLECTIONS 

November  2,  1781. 

DEAR  SIR, — There  was  no  need  to  be  enraged,  because 
I  thought  you  might  easily  forget  a  transaction  not 
at  all  pleasing  to  remember  ;  nor  no  need  that  I  should 
be  enraged  if  you  had  indeed  forgotten  it;  but  you 
was  always  suspicious  in  matters  of  memory.  Cummins 
don't  forget  it,  however,  as  I  can  tell  you  more  at  large. 
My  health  is  growing  very  bad  to  be  sure.  I  will  starve 
still  more  rigidly  for  a  while,  and  watch  myself  carefully  ; 
but  more  than  six  months  will  I  not  bestow  upon  that 
subject ;  you  shall  not  have  in  me  a  valetudinary 
correspondent,  who  is  always  writing  such  letters, 
that  to  read  the  labels  tyed  on  bottles  by  an  apothe 
cary's  boy  would  be  more  eligible  and  amusing  ;  nor 
will  I  live  like  Flavia  in  Law's  "  Serious  Call,"  who  spends 
half  her  time  and  money  on  herself,  with  sleeping- 
draughts  and  waking-draughts  and  cordials  and  broths. 
My  desire  is  always  to  determine  against  my  own 
gratification,  so  far  as  shall  be  possible  for  my  body 
to  co-operate  with  my  mind ;  and  you  will  not  suspect 
me  of  wearing  blisters,  and  living  wholly  upon  vegetables 
for  sport.  If  that  will  do,  the  disorder  may  be  re- 
moved ;  but  if  health  is  gone,  and  gone  for  ever,  we 
will  act  as  Zachary  Pearce  the  famous  Bishop  of 
Rochester  did,  when  he  lost  the  wife  he  loved  so — 
call  for  one  glass  to  the  health  of  her  who  is  departed, 
never  more  to  return — and  so  go  quietly  back  to  the 
usual  duties  of  life,  and  forbear  to  mention  her  again 
from  that  time  till  the  last  day  of  it.  Susan  is  exceed- 
ingly honoured,  I  think,  by  Miss  Seward's  enquiries, 


io8  HESTER    LYNCH    PIOZZI 

and  I  would  have  Susan  think  so  too  ;  the  humbler 
one's  heart  is,  the  more  one's  pride  is  gratified,  if  one 
may  use  so  apparently  Irish  an  expression,  but  the 
meaning  of  it  does  not  lie  deep.  They  who  are  too 
proud  to  care  whether  they  please  or  no,  lose  much 
delight  themselves,  and  give  none  to  their  neighbours. 
Mrs.  Porter  is  in  a  bad  way,  and  that  makes  you  melan- 
choly ;  the  visits  to  Stowhill  will  this  year  be  more 
frequent  than  ever.  I  am  glad  Watts's  "  Improvement 
of  the  Mind  "  is  a  favourite  book  among  the  Lichfield 
ladies  ;  it  is  so  pious,  so  wise,  so  easy  a  book  to  read 
for  any  person,  and  so  useful,  nay  necessary,  are  its 
precepts  to  us  all,  that  I  never  cease  recommending  it 
to  our  young  ones.  'Tis  a  la  porte  de  chacun  so,  yet 
never  vulgar  ;  but  Law  beats  him  for  wit ;  and  the 
names  are  very  happy  in  Watts  somehow.  I  fancy  there 
was  no  comparison  between  the  scholastic  learning  of 
the  two  writers  ;  but  there  is  prodigious  knowledge 
of  the  human  heart,  and  perfect  acquaintance  with 
common  life,  in  the  "  Serious  Call."  You  used  to  say 
you  would  not  trust  me  with  that  author  upstairs 
on  the  dressing-room  shelf,  yet  I  now  half  wish  I  had 
never  followed  any  precepts  but  his.  Our  lasses, 
indeed,  might  possibly  object  to  the  education  given 
her  daughters  by  Law's  Eusebia. 

That  the  ball  did  so  little  towards  diverting  you  I 
do  not  wonder  :  what  can  a  ball  do  towards  diverting 
any  one  who  has  not  other  hopes  and  other  designs 
than  barely  to  see  people  dance,  or  even  to  dance 
himself  ?  They  who  are  entertained  at  the  ball  are 
never  much  amused  by  the  ball  I  believe,  yet  I  love 
the  dance  on  Queeny's  birthday  and  yours,  where  none 
but  very  honest  and  very  praiseworthy  passions — if 


THE    THRALE'S    BALL  109 

passions  they  can  be  called — heighten  the  mirth  and 
gaiety.  It  has  been  thought  by  many  wise  folks  that 
we  fritter  our  pleasures  all  away  by  refinement,  and 
when  one  reads  Goldsmith's  works,  either  verse  or 
prose,  one  fancies  that  in  corrupt  life  there  is  more 
enjoyment — yet  we  should  find  little  solace  from  ale- 
house merriment  or  cottage  carousals,  what  even 
the  best  wrestler  on  the  green  might  do,  I  suppose  ;  mere 
brandy  and  brown-sugar  liqueurs,  like  that  which  Foote 
presented  the  Cherokee  kings  with,  and  won  their 
hearts  from  our  fine  ladies  who  treated  them  with 
spunge  biscuits  and  Frontiniac.  I  am  glad  Queeny  and 
you  are  to  resolve  so  stoutly,  and  labour  so  violently  ; 
such  a  union  may  make  her  wiser  and  you  happier, 
and  can  give  me  nothing  but  delight. 

We  read  a  good  deal  here  in  your  absence,  that  is, 
/  do :  it  is  better  we  sate  all  together  than  in  separate 
rooms  ;  better  that  I  read  than  not ;  and  better  that 
I  should  never  read  what  is  not  fit  for  the  young  ladies 
to  hear  ;  besides,  I  am  sure  they  must  hear  that  which 
I  read  out  to  them,  and  so  one  saves  the  trouble  of 
commanding  what  one  knows  will  never  be  obeyed. — I 
can  find  no  other  way  as  well. 

Come  home,  however,  for  'tis  dull  living  without 
you.  Sir  Philip  and  Mr.  Selwin l  call  very  often,  and 
are  exceedingly  kind.  I  see  them  always  with  gratitude 
and  pleasure  ;  but  as  the  first  has  left  us  now  for  a 
month,  come  home  therefore.  You  are  not  happy 
away,  and  I  fear  I  shall  never  be  happy  again  in  this 
world  between  one  thing  and  another.  My  health, 

1  Apparently  Sir  Philip  Francis,  who  had  just  returned  from 
India  with  a  fortune  acquired  chiefly  by  his  skill  at  whist ;  and 
George  Selwyn  the  wit. 


no  HESTER    LYNCH    PIOZZI 

flesh,  and  complexion  are  quite  lost,  and  I  shall  have 
a  red  face  if  I  live,  and  that  will  be  mighty  detestable 
— a  humpback  would  be  less  offensive,  vastly. 

This  is  the  time  for  fading  ;  the  year  is  fading  round 
us,  and  every  day  shuts  in  more  dismally  than  the 
last  did.  I  never  passed  so  melancholy  a  summer, 
though  I  have  passed  some  that  were  more  painful 
— privation  indeed,  supposed  to  be  worse  than  pain. 

Instead  of  trying  the  Sortes  Virgilianae  for  our  absent 
friends,  we  agreed  after  dinner  to-day  to  ask  little 
Harriet  what  they  were  doing  now  who  used  to  be 
our  common  guests  at  Streatham.  Dr.  Johnson  (says 
she)  is  very  rich  and  wise,  Sir  Philip  is  drowned  in 
the  water,  and  Mr.  Piozzi  is  very  sick  and  lame,  poor 
man  !  What  a  curious  way  of  deciding  !  all  in  her 
little  soft  voice.  Was  not  there  a  custom  among  the 
ancients  in  some  country — 'tis  mentioned  in  Herodotus, 
if  I  remember  right — that  they  took  that  method  of 
enquiring  into  futurity  from  the  mouths  of  infants 
under  three  years  old  ?  but,  I  will  not  swear  to  the  book 
I  have  read  it  in.  The  Scriptural  expression,  however, 
Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings,  etc.,  is  likely 
enough  to  allude  to  it,  if  it  were  once  a  general  practice. 
In  Ireland,  where  the  peasants  are  mad  after  play, 
particularly  backgammon,  Mr.  Murphy  says  they  will 
even,  when  deprived  of  the  necessaries  for  continuing 
so  favourite  a  game,  cut  the  turf  in  a  clean  spot  of 
greensward,  and  make  it  into  tables  for  that  amuse- 
ment, setting  a  little  boy  behind  the  hedge  to  call 
their  throws  for  them,  and  supply  with  his  unconscious 
decisions  the  place  of  box  and  dice. 

Adieu,  dear  Sir,  and  be  as  cheerful  as  you  can  this 
gloomy  season.  I  see  nobody  happy  hereabouts  but 


CAPTAIN    BURNEY  in 

the  Burneys  ;  they  love  each  other  with  uncommon 
warmth  of  family  affection,  and  are  beloved  by  the 
world  as  much  as  if  their  fondness  were  less  concen- 
trated. The  Captain  has  got  a  fifty-gun  ship  now, 
and  we  are  all  so  rejoiced.  Once  more  farewel,  and  do 
not  forget  Streatham  nor  its  inhabitants,  who  are  all 
much  yours — and  most  so  of  all, 

Your  faithful  Servant, 

H.  L.  THRALE. 

We  never  name  Mr.  Newton  of  Lichfield  ;  I  hope 
neither  he  nor  his  fine  china  begin  to  break  yet — of 
other  friends  there  the  accounts  get  very  bad,  to  be 
sure. 

ANNA  LETITIA  BARBAULD   (1743-1825) 

THE  daughter  of  the  Rev.  John  Aikin,  D.D.,  a  dissenting 
minister,  she  became  the  wife  of  the  Rev.  Rochemont  Bar- 
bauld,  also  a  dissenting  minister.  The  year  preceding  her 
marriage  she  published  some  poems  which  quickly  ran  through 
four  editions.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barbauld  started  a  boarding- 
school  for  boys  at  Palgrave,  Suffolk,  which  soon  became  a 
great  success.  While  in  Suffolk  Mrs.  Barbauld  published 
"  Early  Lessons  for  Children."  She  also  edited  a  collection  of 
British  novelists,  but  her  best-known  work  at  the  present 
day  are  her  "  Hymns  in  Prose  for  Children,"  which  have  been 
many  times  reprinted. 

To  hey  brother,  Dr.  Aikin 

THE    NEW    BABY 

PALGRAVE,  September  9,  1775. 

I  give  you  joy  with  all  my  heart,  my  dear  brother, 
on  the  little  hero's  appearance  in  the  world,  and  hope 


H2  ANNA    LETITIA    BARBAULD 

he  will  live  to  be  as  famous  a  man  as  any  of  his  name- 
sakes. I  shall  look  upon  you  now  as  a  very  respectable 
man,  as  being  entitled  to  all  the  honours  and  privileges 
of  a  father  of  three  children.  I  would  advise  you  to 
make  one  a  hero,  as  you  have  determined  ;  another  a 
scholar  ;  and  for  the  third — send  him  to  us,  and  we 
will  bring  him  up  for  a  Norfolk  farmer,  which  I  suspect 
to  be  the  best  business  of  the  three.  I  have  not  forgot 
Arthur,  and  send  you  herewith  a  story  for  his  edification  ; 
but  I  must  desire  you  to  go  on  with  it.  When  you  have 
brought  the  Shepherd  Hidallan  a  sheet  further  in  his 
adventures,  send  him  back  to  me,  and  I  will  take  up 
the  pen  ;  it  will  be  a  very  sociable  way  of  writing,  and 
I  doubt  not  but  it  will  produce  something  new  and 
clever.  The  great  thing  to  be  avoided  in  these  things 
is  the  having  any  plan  in  your  head  :  nothing  cramps 
your  fancy  so  much  ;  and  I  protest  to  you  I  am  entirely 
clear  from  that  inconvenience. 

Pray  can  you  tell  me  anything  about  Crashaw  ? 
I  have  read  some  verses  of  his,  prefixed  to  Cornaro's 
treatise,  so  exceedingly  pretty  that  I  am  persuaded 
he  must  have  written  more,  and  should  be  glad  to 
see  them  :  I  would  transcribe  the  verses,  but  I  think 
you  have  Cornaro  in  your  library.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Now  I  am  upon  poetical  subjects,  I  must  tell 
you  that  a  young  clergyman  in  this  neighbourhood 
is  writing  a  play,  which  he  does  us  the  honour  to  submit 
to  our  criticism.  The  subject  is,  the  resistance  of  the 
Chilese  to  the  Spaniards,  by  which  they  recovered 
their  independence.  I  am  afraid  I  gave  him  very 
wicked  advice  ;  for  I  recommended  it  to  him  to  re- 
convert his  Indian  from  Christianity  to  Heathenism 
and  to  make  his  Chiefs  a  little  more  quarrelsome. 


A. CLERICAL    PLAY  113 

I  believe  the  Devotional  Pieces  have  met  with  the 
fate  of  poor  Jonah,  and  been  swallowed  up  by  some 
whale — perhaps  out  of  pity  and  compassion,  to  save 
them  in  his  jaws  from  the  more  terrible  teeth  of  the 
critics.  St.  Anthony,  I  think,  preached  to  the  fishes  : 
perhaps  I  may  have  the  same  honour.  I  should  as 
soon  inspire  a  porpoise  with  devotion  as  a  turtle-eater. 

You  must  know  I  find  one  inconvenience  in  franks  ; 
one  never  knows  when  to  have  done.  In  a  common 
letter  you  fill  your  sheet,  and  there's  an  end  ;  but 
with  a  frank  you  may  write  on  and  on  for  ever  :  I 
have  tired  two  pens  already.  But  I  will  write  no  more 
to  you  :  I  will  write  to  poor  Patty,  who  wants  amuse- 
ment, so  farewell  !  Go  and  study  your  Greek  ;  and 
do  not  interrupt  us. 

And  how  do  you  do,  my  dear  Patty  ?  Let  me  take 
a  peep  at  this  boy.  Asleep,  is  he  ?  Never  mind  ; 
draw  the  cradle-curtains  softly  and  let  me  have  a 
look.  Upon  my  word,  a  noble  lad  !  Dark  eyes,  like 
his  mother,  and  a  pair  of  cheeks  !  You  may  keep  him 
a  few  months  yet  before  you  pack  him  up  in  the  hamper  ; 
and  then  I  desire  you  will  send  him  with  all  speed  ; 
for  you  know  he  is  to  be  mine.  .  .  . 

May  every  blessing  attend  you  and  yours,  and  all 
the  dear  society  at  Warring  ton. 


A.  L.  Barbauld  to  Airs.  Eliza  Kenrick 

FOREIGN    CUSTOMS 

GENEVA,  October  21,   1785. 

.  .  .  Will  you  hear  how  they  pass  the  Sunday  at 
Geneva  ?     They  have  service  at  seven  in  the  morning, 

8 


ii4  ANNA    LETITIA    BARBAULD 

at  nine,  and  at  two  ;  after  that  they  assemble  in  parties 
for  conversation,  cards,  and  dancing,  and  finish  the 
day  at  the  theatre.  Did  not  you  think  they  had  been 
stricter  at  Geneva  than  to  have  plays  on  the  Sunday, 
especially  as  it  is  but  two  or  three  years  since  they 
were  allowed  at  all  ?  The  service  at  their  churches 
is  seldom  much  more  than  an  hour,  and  I  believe  few 
people  go  more  than  once  a  day.  As  soon  as  the  text 
is  named,  the  minister  puts  on  his  hat,  in  which  he 
is  followed  by  all  the  congregation,  except  those  whose 
hats  and  heads  have  never  any  connection  ;  for  you 
well  know  that  to  put  his  hat  upon  his  head  is  the 
last  use  a  well-dressed  Frenchman  would  think  of 
putting  it  to.  At  proper  periods  of  the  discourse  the 
minister  stops  short,  and  turns  his  back  to  you,  in 
order  to  blow  his  nose,  which  is  a  signal  for  all  the 
congregation  to  do  the  same  ;  and  a  glorious  concert 
it  is,  for  the  weather  is  already  severe,  and  people 
have  got  colds.  I  am  told,  too,  that  he  takes  this 
time  to  refresh  his  memory  by  peeping  at  his  sermon, 
which  lies  behind  him  in  the  pulpit. 

Nobody  ought  to  be  too  old  to  improve  ;  I  should 
be  sorry  if  I  was  ;  and  I  flatter  myself  I  have  already 
improved  considerably  by  my  travels.  First,  I  can 
swallow  gruel  soup,  egg  soup,  and  all  manner  of  soups, 
without  making  faces  much.  Secondly,  I  can  pretty 
well  live  without  tea  ;  they  give  it,  however,  at  Geneva. 
Thirdly,  I  am  less  and  less  shocked,  and  hope  in  time 
I  shall  be  quite  easy,  at  seeing  gentlemen,  perhaps  perfect 
strangers,  enter  my  room  without  ceremony  when  I 
am  in  my  bed-gown.  I  would  not  have  you  think, 
however,  I  am  in  danger  of  losing  my  modesty  ;  for 
if  I  am  no  longer  affected  at  some  things,  I  have  learned 


SUNDAY    AT    GENEVA  115 

to  blush  at  others  ;  and  I  will  tell  you,  as  a  friend, 
that  I  believe  there  is  but  one  indecency  in  France, 
which  is,  for  a  man  and  his  wife  to  have  the  same 
sleeping-room.  "  Est-ce  votre  chambre,  madame,  ou 
celle  de  Monsieur  votre  epoux  ?  "  said  a  lady  to  me  the 
other  day.  I  protest  I  felt  quite  out  of  countenance 
to  think  we  had  but  one.  .  .  . 


A.  L.  Barbauld  to  her  brother,  Dr.  Aikin 

FOR   AND    AGAINST 

MARSEILLES,  December  1785. 

Health  to  you  all — poor  mortals  as  you  are,  crowding 
round  your  coal  fires,  shivering  in  your  nicely  closed 
apartments,  and  listening  with  shivering  hearts  to 
the  wind  and  snow  which  beats  dark  December  !  The 
months  here  have  indeed  the  same  names,  but  far 
different  are  their  aspects  ;  for  here  I  am  sitting  without 
a  fire,  the  windows  open,  and  breathing  an  air  as  per- 
fectly soft  and  balmy  as  in  our  warmest  days  of  May  ; 
yet  the  sun  does  not  shine.  On  the  day  we  arrived 
here,  the  5th  of  December,  it  did,  and  with  as  much 
splendour  and  warmth,  and  the  sky  was  as  clear  and 
of  as  bright  a  blue  as  in  our  finest  summer  days.  The 
fields  are  full  of  lavender,  thyme,  mint,  rosemary,  etc.  ; 
the  young  corn  is  above  half  a  foot  high  :  they  have 
not  much  indeed  in  this  neighbourhood,  but  from 
Orange  to  Lisle  we  saw  a  good  deal.  The  trees  which 
are  not  evergreens  have  mostly  lost  their  leaves  ;  but 
one  sees  everywhere  the  pale  verdure  of  the  olives 
mixed  with  here  and  there  a  grove,  or  perhaps  a  single 
tree  of  cypress,  shooting  up  its  graceful  spire  of  a  deeper 


ii6  ANNA    LETITIA    BARBAULD 

and  more  lively  green  far  above  the  heads  of  its  humbler 
but  more  profitable  neighbours.  The  markets  abound 
with  fresh  and  dried  grapes,  pomegranates,  oranges 
with  the  green  leaves,  apples,  pears,  dried  figs,  and 
almonds.  They  reap  the  corn  here  the  latter  end  of 
May  or  the  beginning  of  June.  The  gathering  of  the 
olives  is  not  yet  finished  :  it  yields  to  this  country 
its  richest  harvest.  There  are  likewise  a  vast  number 
of  mulberry  trees,  and  the  road  in  many  places  is 
bordered  with  them  ;  but  they  are  perfectly  naked  at 
present.  Marseilles  is,  however,  not  without  bad 
weather.  The  vent  de  bise,  they  say,  is  penetrating  ; 
and  for  this  last  fortnight  they  have  had  prodigious 
rains,  with  the  interruption  of  only  a  few  days  ;  so 
that  the  streets  are  very  dirty  and  the  roads  broken 
up.  But  they  say  this  is  very  extraordinary,  and 
that  if  they  pass  two  days  without  seeing  a  bright 
sun  they  think  Nature  is  dealing  very  hardly  with 
them.  I  will  not,  however,  boast  too  much  over  you 
from  these  advantages  ;  for  I  am  ready  to  confess  the 
account  may  be  balanced  by  many  inconveniences, 
little  and  great,  which  attend  this  favoured  country. 
And  thus  I  state  my  account : 

ADVANTAGES  OF  TRAVELLING  PER  CONTRA 

A  July  sun  and  a  southern  Flies,  fleas,  and  all  Pharaoh's 
breeze.  plague  of  vermin. 

Figs,  almonds,  etc.  etc.  No  tea,  and  the  very  name 

of  a  tea-kettle  unknown. 

Sweet  scents  in  the  fields.  Bad  scents  within  doors. 

Grapes  and  raisins.  No  plum-pudding. 

Coffee  as  cheap  as  milk.  Milk  as  dear  as  coffee. 

Wine  a  demi-sous  the  bottle.  Bread  three  sous  the  half- 
penny roll. 


FOREIGN  TRAVEL                        117 

Proven9al  songs  and  laughter.  Proven£al      roughness     and 

scolding. 

Soup,  salad  and  oil.  No  beef,  no  butter. 

Arcs       of       triumph,       fine  Dirty     inns,     heavy     roads, 

churches,  stately  palaces.  uneasy  carriages. 

A      pleasant      and      varied  But   many,   many   a   league 

country.  from  those  we  love. 


A.   L.  Barbauld  to  Mrs.  Carr 

A   TRAGEDY 

PIT  COT,  near  BRIDGEND,  July  18,  1797. 
.  .  .  We  flattered  ourselves  with  seeing  some  of  the 
beauties  of  South  Wales  in  coming  hither,  but  we  were 
completely  disappointed  by  the  state  of  the  weather. 
This  country  is  bleak  and  bare,  with  fine  views  of  the 
sea,  and  a  bold,  rocky  coast,  with  a  beach  of  fine  hard 
sand.  We  have  been  much  pleased  with  watching 
the  coming  in  of  the  tide  among  the  rocks,  against 
which  it  dashes,  forming  columns  of  spray  twenty 
and  thirty  feet  high,  accompanied  with  rainbows  and 
with  a  roar  like  distant  cannon.  There  are  fine  caverns 
and  recesses  among  the  rocks  ;  one  particularly  which 
we  took  the  opportunity  of  visiting  yesterday,  as  it 
can  only  be  entered  at  the  ebb  of  the  spring  tides. 
It  is  very  spacious,  beautifully  arched,  and  composed 
of  granite  rocks  finely  veined  with  alabaster,  which 
the  imagination  may  easily  form  into  a  resemblance 
of  a  female  figure,  and  is  of  course  the  Nereid  of  the 
grotto.  We  wished  to  have  stayed  longer  ;  but  our 
friend  hurried  us  away,  lest  the  tide  should  rush  in, 
which  it  is  supposed  to  do  from  subterraneous  caverns, 


ii8  ANNA    LETITIA    BARBAULD 

as  it  fills  before  the  tide  covers  the  sand  of  the  adjacent 
beach.  I  was  particularly  affected  by  the  fate  of 
two  lovers,  a  young  lady  and  gentleman  from  Clifton, 
whose  friends  were  here  for  the  sake  of  sea-bathing. 
They  stole  out  early  one  morning  by  themselves,  and 
strolled  along  the  beach  till  they  came  to  this  grotto, 
which,  being  then  empty,  they  entered.  They  admired 
the  strata  of  rock  leaning  in  different  directions  :  they 
admired  the  encrustation  which  covers  part  of  the 
sides,  exactly  resembling  honeycomb,  various  shells 
imbedded  in  the  rock,  the  sea-anemone  spreading  its 
purple  fringe — an  animal  flower  clinging  to  the  rocks. 
They  admired  the  first  efforts  of  vegetation  in  the 
purple  and  green  tints  occasioned  by  the  lichens  and 
other  mosses  creeping  over  the  bare  stone.  They 
admired  these  together ;  they  loved  each  other  the 
more  for  having  the  same  tastes,  and  they  taught 
the  echoes  of  the  cavern  to  repeat  the  vows  which 
they  made  of  eternal  constancy.  In  the  meantime 
the  tide  was  coming  in  :  of  this  they  were  aware,  as 
they  now  and  then  glanced  their  eye  on  the  waves, 
which  they  saw  advancing  at  a  distance ;  but  not 
knowing  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  cavern,  they  thought 
themselves  safe  ;  when  on  a  sudden,  as  they  were  in 
the  farthest  part  of  it,  the  waters  rushed  in  from  fissures 
in  the  rock  with  terrible  roaring.  They  climbed  from 
ledge  to  ledge  of  the  rocks — but  in  vain  :  the  water 
rose  impetuously,  and  at  length  filled  the  whole  grotto. 
Their  bodies  were  found  the  next  day,  when  the  tide 
was  out,  reclining  on  a  shelf  of  rock — he  in  the  tender 
attitude  of  supporting  her,  in  the  very  highest  accessible 
part,  and  leaning  his  own  head  in  her  lap — so  that  he 
must  have  died  first.  Poor  lovers  !  If,  however,  you 


DAVID    GARRICK  119 

should  be  too  much  grieved  for  them,  you  may  impute 
the  whole,  if  you  please,  to  a  waking  dream  which  I 
had  in  the  grotto. 

CATHERINE   CLIVE    (1711-1785) 

THE  daughter  of  William  Raftor,  a  Kilkenny  lawyer.  She 
made  her  debut  at  Drury  Lane  in  1728  as  a  comedy  actress, 
and  continued  to  play  at  that  theatre  till  she  quitted  the 
stage  in  1769.  David  Garrick  was  for  many  years  manager 
of  old  Drury  during  her  career.  She  was  a  great  favourite 
of  Dr.  Johnson,  who  especially  admired  her  acting. 

To  David  Garrick  l 

AN    APPRECIATION 

TWICKENHAM,  June  23,  1776. 

DEAR  SIR, — Is  it  really  true  that  you  have  put  an 
end  to  the  glory  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre  ?  //  it  is  so, 
let  me  congratulate  my  dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Garrick  on 
their  approaching  happiness.  I  know  what  it  will  be  : 
you  cannot  yet  have  an  idea  of  it ;  but  if  you  should 
still  be  so  wicked  not  to  be  satisfied  with  that  unbounded, 
uncommon  degree  of  fame  you  have  received  as  an 
actor,  and  which  no  other  actor  ever  did  receive — 
nor  no  other  actor  ever  can  receive  ; — I  say,  if  you 
should  still  long  to  be  dipping  your  fingers  in  their 
theatrical  pudding  (now  without  plums),  you  will  be 
no  Garrick  for  the  Pivy.  In  the  height  of  public  admira- 
tion for  you,  when  you  were  never  mentioned  with 
any  other  appellation  but  Mr.  Garrick,  the  charming 
man,  the  fine  fellow,  the  delightful  creature,  both  by 
men  and  ladies  ;  when  they  were  admiring  everything 

1  The  following  letters  are  reprinted  by  kind  permission  of  Mr. 
Percy  Fitzgerald,  from  his  Life  of  Kitty  Clive, 


120  CATHERINE    CLIVE 

you  did  and  everything  you  scribbled,  at  this  very 
time  the  Pivy  was  a  living  witness  that  they  did  not 
know,  nor  could  they  be  sensible  of,  half  your  perfections. 
I  have  seen  you  with  your  magical  hammer  in  your 
hand,  endeavouring  to  beat  your  ideas  into  the  heads 
of  creatures  who  had  none  of  their  own.  I  have  seen 
you  with  lamb-like  patience  endeavouring  to  make 
them  comprehend  you,  and  I  have  seen  you  when 
that  could  not  be  done.  I  have  seen  your  lamb  turned 
into  a  lion  ;  by  this  your  great  labour  and  pains  the 
public  was  entertained  ;  they  thought  they  all  acted 
very  fine — they  did  not  see  you  pull  the  wires. 

There  are  people  now  on  the  stage  to  whom  you 
gave  their  consequence  ;  they  think  themselves  very 
great.  Now  let  them  go  on  in  their  new  parts  without 
your  leading-strings,  and  they  will  soon  convince  the 
world  what  this  genius  is.  I  have  always  said  this 
to  everybody,  even  when  your  horses  and  mine  were 
in  their  highest  prancing.  While  I  was  under  your 
control  I  did  not  say  half  the  fine  things  I  thought 
of  you,  because  it  looked  like  flattering,  and  you  know 
your  Pivy  was  always  proud,  because  I  thought  you 
did  not  like  me  then,  but  now  I  am  sure  you  do,  which 
made  me  send  this  letter. 


Catherine  Clive  to  David  Garrick 

PLAYER   V.    MANAGER 

February  19,  1768. 

SIR, — I  am  sorry  to  give  you  this  trouble,  but  I  really 
cannot  comprehend  what  you  mean  by  saying  you 
expected  I  should  thanke  the  managers  for  their  tender- 


KITTY    CLIVE'S    BENEFIT  121 

ness  to  me.  I  have  all  ways  been  greatfull  to  every 
one  who  has  obliged  me,  and  if  you  will  be  so  good 
as  to  point  out  the  obligation  I  have  to  you  and  Mr. 
Lacy,  I  shall  have  great  pleasure  in  acknowledging 
them.  You  tell  me  you  have  done  all  you  can  for 
me,  and  you  can  do  more.  I  don't  know  how  to  under- 
stand that.  Any  one  who  sees  your  letter  would  suppose 
I  was  kept  at  your  Theatre  out  of  Charitey.  If  you 
still  look  over  the  number  of  times  I  have  play'd  this 
season,  you  must  think  I  have  desarv'd  the  monney 
you  give  me.  You  say  you  give  me  the  best  day  in 
the  week.  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  cannot  be  of  your  opinion. 
St.  Patrick's  day  is  the  very  worst  to  me  that  can  be. 
Mrs.  Yates's  might  be  the  strongest  Benefit,  as  her 
interest  and  mine  clash  in  the  Box's.  As  to  my  quareling 
you  are  under  a  very  great  misstake.  There  is  nothing 
I  dread  so  much,  I  have  not  spirits  for  that,  tho1  have 
for  acting.  You  say  that  you  have  fixt  the  day,  and 
have  drawn  a  line  under  it  that  I  may  be  sure  I  can 
have  no  other  ;  therefore  I  must  take  it.  But  I  must 
think  it  (and  so  will  every  impartial  person)  very  hard 
that  Mrs.  Dancer  should  have  her  Benefit  before  Mrs. 
Clive.  You  may  depend  upon  having  no  further 
trouble  with  me.  Indeed,  I  flattered  myself  that  as 
the  greatest  part  was  past  of  the  season,  and  I  had 
done  everything  you  asked  of  me,  in  playing  a  very 
insignificant  part  on  purpose  to  please  you,  /  say,  I 
was  in  hope's  it  would  have  ended  as  it  had  gone  so 
far,  without  any  unkindness.  But  I  shall  say  no  more 
than  that, 

I  am,  Sir, 

Your  most  humble  servant, 

C.  CLIVE. 


122  CATHERINE    CLIVE 

Catherine  Clive  to  David  Garrick 

JEALOUSY 

[1774  ?]• 

I  schr earned  at  your  parish  business.  I  think  I  see 
you  in  your  churchwardenship  quareling  for  not  making 
those  brown  loaves  big  enough  ;  but  for  God's  sake 
never  think  of  being  a  justice  of  the  peace,  for  the 
people  will  quarrel  on  purpose  to  be  brought  before  you 
to  hear  you  talk,  so  that  you  may  have  as  much  business 
upon  the  lawn  as  you  had  upon  the  boards.  If  I 
should  live  to  be  thawed,  I  will  come  to  town  on  purpose 
to  kiss  you  ;  and  in  the  summer,  as  you  say,  I  hope 
we  shall  see  each  other  ten  times  as  often,  when  we 
will  talk,  and  dance,  and  sing,  and  send  our  heares 
laughing  to  their  beds.  .  .  . 

O  jealousey,  thou  raging  pain, 
Where  shall  I  find  my  piece  again. 

I  am  in  a  great  fuss.  Pray  what  is  the  meaning 
of  a  quarter  of  a  hundred  Miss  Moors  coming  purring 
about  you  with  their  poems  and  plays  and  romances  ; 
what,  is  the  Pivy  to  be  roused,  and  I  don't  understand 
it  ?  Mrs.  Garrick  has  been  so  good  to  say  she  would 
spare  me  a  little  corner  of  your  heart,  and  I  can  tell 
the  Miss  Moors  they  shall  not  have  one  morsel  of  it. 
What  do  they  pretend  to  take  it  by  force  of  lines  ?  If 
that's  the  case  I  shall  write  such  verses  as  shall  make 
them  stare  againe,  and  send  them  to  Bristol  with  a 
flea  in  their  ear  !  Here  have  I  two  letters,  one  and 
not  one  line,  nay,  you  write  to  the  Poulterer's  woman 
rather  than  the  Pivy,  and  order  her  to  bring  me  the 
note  ;  and  the  poor  creature  is  so  proud  of  a  letter 


WALNUTS  123 

from  you  that  it  has  quite  turn'd  her  head,  and  instead 
of  picking  her  Poultry  ;  she  is  dancing  about  her  shop, 
with  a  wisp  of  straw  in  her  hand,  like  the  poor  Ophelia, 
singing  : 

How  shou'd  I  your  true  love  know  ? 

And  I  must  tell  you,  if  you  don't  write  to  me  directly 
and  tell  me  a  great  deal  of  news,  I  believe  I  shall  sing 
the  next  of  the  mad  songs  myself.  I  see  your  run 
always  goes  on,  which  gives  me  great  pleasure — I  shall 
be  glad  if  you  will  lend  it  me  (Colley  Gibber).  My  love 
to  my  dear  Mrs.  Garrick.  I  suppose  you  have  had  a 
long  letter  of  thanks  from  Miss  Pope.  I  have  had 
one  from  her  all  over  transport.  I  feel  vast  happiness 
about  that  afair,  and  shall  ever  remember  it  as  a  great 
obligation  you  have  confered  on  your, 

PIVY  CLIVE. 


Catherine  Clive  to  Miss  Pope 

MULTUM    IN    PARVO 

TWICKENHAM,  October  17,   1784. 

MY  DEAR  POPY, — The  jack  I  must  have,  and  I  suppose 
the  cook  will  be  as  much  delighted  with  it  as  a  fine 
lady  with  a  birthday  suit.  I  send  you  walnuts,  which 
are  fine,  but  pray  be  moderate  in  your  admiration, 
for  they  are  dangerous  dainties.  John  has  carried 
about  to  my  neighbours  above  six  thousand,  and  he 
tells  me  there  are  as  many  still  left ;  indeed  it  is  a  most 
wonderful  tree.  Mrs.  Prince  has  been  robbed  at  two 
o'clock,  at  noon,  of  her  gold  watch  and  four  guineas, 
and  at  the  same  time  our  two  justices  of  sixpence 


124  CATHERINE   CLIVE 

a-piece  ;  they  had  like  to  be  shott,  for  not  having 
more.  Everybody  enquires  after  you  and  I  deliver 
your  cornpts.  Poor  Mrs.  Hart  is  dead — well-spoken- 
of  by  everybody.  I  pity  the  poor  old  Weassel  that  is 
left  behind. 

Adieu,  my  dear  Popy. 

Yours  ever, 

C.  CLIVE. 

The  jack  must  carry  six  or  seven-and-twenty  pounds. 
The  waterman  shall  bring  the  money  when  I  know 
what. 


HANNAH   MORE   (1745-1833) 

FOURTH  daughter  of  a  Bristol  village  schoolmaster,  who  at 
an  early  age  showed  her  literary  tastes  and  at  seventeen  pub- 
lished a  drama.  Coming  to  London,  she  met  Johnson,  the 
Garricks,  Burke,  and  other  lions  of  the  day,  but  later  her 
religious  views  were  the  means  of  her  withdrawal  from  society 
and  her  subsequent  devotion  to  the  poor.  Her  works  com- 
prise, among  others,  a  novel,  "  Cselebs  in  Search  of  a  Wife," 
"Essays,"  and  two  tragedies,  which  were  both  acted;  also 
her  once  very  popular  "  Sacred  Dramas." 


To  her  Sister 

GARRICK'S  FUNERAL 

ADELPHI,  February  2,  1779. 

We  (Miss  Cadogan  and  myself)  went  to  Charing 
Cross  to  see  the  melancholy  procession.  Just  as  we 
got  there  we  received  a  ticket  from  the  Bishop  of 
Rochester  to  admit  us  into  «the  Abbey.  No  admittance 
could  be  obtained  but  under  his  hand.  We  hurried 


GARRICK'S    FUNERAL  125 

away  in  a  hackney  coach,  dreading  to  be  too  late.  The 
bell  of  St.  Martin's  and  the  Abbey  gave  a  sound  that 
smote  upon  my  very  soul.  When  we  got  to  the  cloisters 
we  found  multitudes  striving  for  admittance.  We 
gave  our  ticket  and  were  let  in  ;  but,  unluckily,  we 
ought  to  have  kept  it.  We  followed  the  man,  who 
unlocked  a  door  of  iron,  and  directly  closed  it  upon  us 
and  two  or  three  others,  and  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
Tower,  with  a  dark  winding  staircase,  consisting  of 
half  a  hundred  stone  steps.  When  we  got  to  the  top 
there  was  no  way  out ;  we  ran  down  again,  called,  and 
beat  the  door,  till  the  whole  pile  resounded  with  our 
cries.  Here  we  stayed  half  an  hour  in  perfect  agony  ; 
we  were  sure  it  would  be  all  over  :  nay,  we  might  never 
be  let  out ;  we  might  starve — we  might  perish  !  At 
length  our  clamours  brought  an  honest  man,  a  guardian 
angel  I  then  thought  him.  We  implored  him  to  take 
care  of  us,  and  get  us  into  a  part  of  the  Abbey  whence 
we  might  see  the  grave.  He  asked  for  the  bishop's 
ticket ;  we  had  given  it  away  to  the  wrong  person  ; 
and  he  was  not  obliged  to  believe  we  ever  had  one  ; 
yet  he  saw  so  much  truth  in  our  grief,  that  though  we 
were  most  shabby,  and  a  hundred  fine  people  were 
soliciting  the  same  favour,  he  took  us  under  each  arm, 
carried  us  safely  through  the  crowd,  and  put  us  in  a 
little  gallery  directly  over  the  grave,  where  we  could 
see  and  hear  everything  as  distinctly  as  if  the  Abbey 
had  been  a  parlour.  Little  things  sometimes  affect  the 
mind  strongly  !  We  were  no  sooner  recovered  from 
the  fresh  bursts  of  grief  than  I  cast  my  eyes,  the  first 
thing,  on  Handel's  monument,  and  read  the  scroll 
in  his  hand,  "  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth." 
Just  at  three  the  great  doors  burst  open  with  a  noise 


126  HANNAH   MORE 

that  shook  the  roof  :  the  organ  struck  up,  and  the 
whole  choir,  in  strains  only  less  solemn  than  the  arch- 
angel's trump,  began  Handel's  fine  anthem.  The  whole 
choir  advanced  to  the  grave,  in  hoods  and  surplices, 
singing  all  the  way  ;  then  Sheridan  as  chief  mourner  ; 
then  the  body — alas  !  whose  body  ?  with  ten  noblemen 
and  gentlemen,  pall  bearers ;  then  the  rest  of  the  friends 
and  mourners  ;  hardly  a  dry  eye — the  very  players, 
bred  to  the.  trade  of  counterfeiting,  shed  genuine  tears. 

As  soon  as  the  body  was  let  down,  the  bishop  began 
the  service,  which  was  read  in  a  low  but  solemn  and 
devout  manner.  Such  an  awful  stillness  reigned  that 
every  word  was  audible.  How  I  felt  it !  Judge  if 
my  heart  did  not  assent  to  the  hope  that  the  soul 
of  our  dear  brother  now  departed  was  in  peace.  And 
this  is  all  of  Garrick  !  Yet  a  very  little  while,  and 
he  shall  "  say  to  the  worm,  Thou  art  my  brother  :  and 
to  corruption,  Thou  art  my  mother  and  my  sister." 
So  passes  away  the  fashion  of  this  world.  And  the 
very  night  he  was  buried  the  play-houses  were  as  full, 
and  the  Pantheon  was  as  crowded,  as  if  no  such  thing 
had  happened  ;  nay,  the  very  mourners  of  the  day 
partook  of  the  revelries  of  the  night — the  same  night, 
too  ! 

As  soon  as  the  crowd  had  dispersed,  our  friend  came 
to  us  with  an  invitation  from  the  bishop's  lady,  to 
whom  he  had  related  our  disaster,  to  come  into  the 
deanery.  We  were  carried  into  her  dressing-room, 
but,  being  incapable  of  speech,  she  very  kindly  said 
she  would  not  interrupt  such  sorrow,  and  left  us  :  but 
sent  up  wine,  cakes,  and  all  manner  of  good  things, 
which  were  really  well-timed.  I  caught  no  cold,  not- 
withstanding all  I  went  through. 


CELEBRITIES  127 

On  Wednesday  night  we  came  to  the  Adelphi — to 
this  house  !  She 1  bore  it  with  great  tranquillity,  but 
what  was  my  surprise  to  see  her  go  alone  into  the 
chamber  and  bed  in  which  he  had  died  that  day  fort- 
night. She  had  a  delight  in  it  beyond  expression.  I 
asked  her  the  next  day  how  she  went  through  it  ?  She 
told  me,  very  well  ;  that  she  first  prayed  with  great 
composure,  then  went  and  kissed  the  dear  bed,  and 
got  into  it  with  a  sad  pleasure. 


Hannah  More  to  a  relative 

GENERAL    PAOLI 

HAMPTON,  1782. 

When  I  was  in  town  last  week  we  had  another  last 
breakfast  at  St.  James's.  There  I  found  Lord  Mon- 
boddo,  Mrs.  Carter,  that  pleasantest  of  the  peerage, 
Lord  Stormont,  and  Count  Marechale,  a  very  agreeable 
foreign  nobleman,  and  a  worthy  man  ;  he  has  almost 
promised  to  put  the  story  of  our  poor  insane  Louisa 
into  German  for  me.  I  was  three  times  with  Mrs. 
Montague  the  week  I  stayed  in  town.  We  spent  one 
evening  with  her  and  Miss  Gregory  alone,  to  take  leave 
of  the  Hill  Street  house  ;  and  you  never  saw  such  an 
air  of  ruin  and  bankruptcy  as  everything  around  us 
wore.  We  had  about  three  feet  square  of  carpet,  and 
that  we  might  all  put  our  feet  upon  it  we  were  obliged 
to  sit  in  a  circle  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  just  as  if 
we  were  playing  at  "  hunt  the  slipper  !  "  She  was  full 
of  encomiums  of  Bristol,  and  of  every  one  she  saw 
there.  She  is  now  settled  in  Portman  Square,  where  I 

i  Mrs.  Garrick. 


128  HANNAH   MORE 

believe  we  were  among  the  first  to  pay  our  compliments 
to  her.  I  had  no  conception  of  anything  so  beautiful. 
To  all  the  magnificence  of  a  very  superb  London  house 
is  added  the  scenery  of  a  country  retirement.  It  is  so 
seldom  that  anything  superb  is  pleasant,  that  I  was 
extremely  struck  with  it.  I  could  not  help  looking 
with  compassion  on  the  amiable  proprietor  shivering 
at  a  breeze,  and  who  can  at  the  best  enjoy  it  so  very 
little  a  while.  She  has,  however,  my  ardent  wishes 
for  her  continuance  in  a  world  to  which  she  is  an 
ornament  and  a  blessing.  .  .  . 

...  At  a  party  the  other  day  I  was  placed  next 
General  Paoli,  and  as  I  have  not  spoken  seven  sentences 
of  Italian  these  seven  years,  I  have  not  that  facility 
in  expressing  myself  which  I  used  to  have.  I  therefore 
begged  hard  to  carry  on  the  conversation  in  French. 
By-the-bye,  I  believe  I  never  told  you  that  Paoli  is  my 
chief  beau  and  flirt  this  winter.  We  talk  whole  hours. 
He  has  a  general  good  taste  in  the  belles  lettres  and  is 
fond  of  reciting  passages  from  Dante  and  Aristotle. 
He  is  extremely  lively  when  set  a-going  ;  quotes  from 
Shakespeare,  and  raves  in  his  praise.  He  is  particularly 
fond  of  Romeo  and  Juliet ;  I  suppose,  because  the 
scene  is  laid  in  Italy.  I  did  not  know  he  had  such  very 
agreeable  talents  ;  but  he  will  not  talk  in  English,  and 
his  French  is  mixed  with  Italian.  He  speaks  no 
language  with  purity. 

On  Monday  I  was  at  a  very  great  assembly  at  the 
Bishop  of  St.  Asaph's.  Conceive  to  yourself  one 
hundred  and  fifty  or  two  hundred  people  met  together, 
dressed  in  the  extremity  of  the  fashion  ;  painted  as 
red  as  bacchanals,  poisoning  the  air  with  perfumes  ; 
treading  on  each  other's  gowns ;  making  the  crowd 


GENERAL    PAOLI  129 

they  blame  ;  not  one  in  ten  able  to  get  a  chair  ;  pro- 
testing they  are  engaged  to  ten  other  places  ;  and 
lamenting  the  fatigue  they  are  not  obliged  to  endure ; 
ten  or  a  dozen  card-tables  crammed  with  dowagers 
of  quality,  grave  ecclesiastics  and  yellow  admirals  :  and 
you  have  an  idea  of  the  assembly.  I  never  go  to  these 
things  when  I  can  possibly  avoid  it,  and  stay,  when 
there,  as  few  minutes  as  I  can. 


Hannah  More  to  Mr.  Wilberforce 

SPIRITUAL    PRIVILEGES    IN    SOMERSET 

GEORGE  HOTEL,  CHEDDAR,  1789. 

DEAR  SIR, — Though  this  is  but  a  romantic  place,  as 
my  friend  Mathew  well  observed,  yet  you  would  laugh  to 
see  the  bustle  I  am  in.  I  was  told  we  should  meet  with 
great  opposition  if  I  did  not  try  to  propitiate  the  chief 
despot  of  the  village,  who  is  very  rich  and  very  brutal  ; 
so  I  ventured  into  the  den  of  this  monster,  in  a  country 
as  savage  as  himself,  near  Bridgewater.  He  begged 
I  would  not  think  of  bringing  any  religion  into  the 
country  :  it  was  the  worst  thing  in  the  world  for  the 
poor,  for  it  made  them  lazy  and  useless.  In  vain  did 
I  represent  to  him  that  they  would  be  more  industrious 
as  they  were  better  principled ;  and  that,  for  my 
own  part,  I  had  no  selfish  views  in  what  I  was  doing. 
He  gave  me  to  understand  that  he  knew  the  world 
too  well  to  believe  either  the  one  or  the  other.  Some- 
what dismayed  to  find  that  my  success  bore  no  pro- 
portion to  my  submissions,  I  was  almost  discouraged 
from  more  visits  ;  but  I  found  that  friends  must  be 
secured  at  all  events,  for  that  if  these  rich  savages  set 

9 


130  HANNAH    MORE 

their  faces  against  us,  and  influenced  the  poor  people, 
it  was  clear  that  nothing  but  hostilities  would  ensue  ; 
so  I  made  eleven  more  of  these  agreeable  visits,  and 
as  I  improved  in  the  art  of  canvassing,  had  better 
success.  Miss  Wilberforce  would  have  been  shocked 
had  she  seen  the  petty  tyrants  whose  insolence  I  stroked 
and  tamed,  the  ugly  children  I  fondled,  the  pointers 
and  spaniels  I  caressed,  the  cider  I  commended,  and 
the  wine  I  swallowed.  After  these  irresistible  flatteries, 
I  inquired  of  each  if  he  could  recommend  to  me  a  house  ; 
and  said  that  I  had  a  little  plan,  which  I  hoped  would 
secure  their  orchards  from  being  robbed,  their  rabbits 
from  being  shot,  their  poultry  from  being  stolen,  and 
which  might  lower  the  poor-rates.  If  effect  be  the 
best  proof  of  eloquence,  then  mine  was  a  good  speech, 
for  I  gained  at  length  the  hearty  concurrence  of  the 
whole  people,  and  their  promise  to  discourage  or  favour 
the  poor  in  proportion  as  they  were  attentive  or  negligent 
in  sending  their  children.  Patty,  who  is  with  me, 
says  she  has  good  hope  that  the  hearts  of  some  of  these 
rich  poor  wretches  may  be  touched  ;  they  are  at  present 
as  ignorant  as  the  beasts  that  perish,  intoxicated  every 
day  before  dinner,  and  plunge  in  such  vices  as  make 
me  begin  to  think  London  a  virtuous  place.  By  their 
assistance  I  procured  immediately  a  good  house,  which, 
when  a  partition  is  taken  down,  and  a  window  added, 
will  receive  a  great  number  of  children.  The  house, 
and  an  excellent  garden  of  almost  an  acre  of  ground, 
I  have  taken  at  once  for  six  guineas  and  a  half  per 
year.  I  have  ventured  to  take  it  for  seven  years  ; 
there's  courage  for  you  !  It  is  to  be  put  in  order  im- 
mediately, "  for  the  night  cometh ;  "  and  it  is  a 
comfort  to  think  that,  though  I  may  be  dust  and  ashes 


HANNAH    MORE    EVANGELISING          131 

in  a  few  weeks,  yet  by  that  time  this  business  will  be 
in  actual  motion.  I  have  written  to  different  manu- 
facturing towns  for  a  mistress,  but  can  get  nothing 
hitherto.  As  to  the  mistress  for  the  Sunday-school,  and 
the  religious  part,  I  have  employed  Mrs.  Easterbrook, 
of  whose  judgment  I  have  a  good  opinion.  I  hope 
Miss  W—  -  will  not  be  frightened,  but  I  am  afraid 
she  must  be  called  a  Methodist. 

I  asked  the  farmers  if  they  have  no  resident  curate  ; 
they  told  me  they  had  a  right  to  insist  on  one,  which 
right,  they  confessed,  they  had  never  ventured  to 
exercise,  for  fear  their  tithes  should  be  raised  !  I 
blushed  for  my  species.  The  Glebe  House  is  good  for 
my  purpose.  The  vicarage  of  Cheddar  is  in  the  gift  of 
the  Dean  of  Wells  ;  the  value  nearly  fifty  pounds  per 

annum.       The   incumbent    is   a    Mr.    R ,    who   has 

something  to  do,  but  I  cannot  here  find  out  what,  in 
the  University  of  Oxford,  where  he  resides.  The  curate 
lives  at  Wells,  twelve  miles  distant.  They  have  only 
one  service  a  week,  and  there  is  scarcely  an  instance 
of  a  poor  person  being  visited,  or  prayed  with.  The 
living  of  Axbridge  belongs  to  the  prebendary  of  Wivelis- 
combe,  in  the  diocese  of  Wells.  The  annual  value 
is  about  fifty  pounds.  The  incumbent  about  sixty 
years  of  age.  The  prebend  to  which  this  rectory 
belongs  is  in  the  gift  of  the  Bishop  of  Bath  and  Wells. 

Mr.  G is  intoxicated  about  six  times  a  week,  and 

very  frequently  is  prevented    from  preaching  by  two 

black  eyes,   honestly   earned  by  fighting.     Mr.   M 

is  a  middle-aged  man  :  of  his  character  they  know 
nothing.  The  curate  a  sober  young  man. 

Your  much  obliged, 

H.  MORE. 


134  ANNA    SEWARD 

Northesk's,  Lady  Marianne's  and  Mrs.  Scott's  society 
at  Lichfield,  in  the  house  of  Dr.  Darwin.  Mournful  was 
that  pleasure,  because  of  the  fearful  balance  in  which 
then  hung  the  valuable  life  of  Lady  Northesk.  Ah  ! 
with  what  delight  did  I  learn,  from  her  condescending 
letters  to  me,  of  the  return  of  her  health,  by  the  pre- 
scriptions of  Dr.  Darwin,  after  those  of  the  London 
and  Bath  physicians  had  failed  !  Sincerely  did  I 
deplore  the  sudden  blight  upon  those  hopes  of  her 
long  existence  which  were  inspired  by  that  unexpected, 
that  wonderful  recovery. 

To  be  thus  engagingly  sought,  through  motives  of 
filial  piety  by  a  daughter  of  hers,  gives  me  satisfaction, 
which  is  not  the  less  poignant  for  being  shaded  over 
by  a  sense  of  mournful  gratitude  to  the  ETERNALLY 
ABSENT. 

I  am  happy  to  hear  you  say  Lord  Northesk  is  well. 
You  do  not  mention  your  own  health.  During  that 
transient  residence  at  Lichfield,  I  observed  with  pain 
that  your  Ladyship's  constitution  was  very  delicate. 
The  years  of  advancing  youth  have,  I  trust,  brought 
strength  and  bloom  on  their  wing. 

For  both  your  sakes  I  regret  that  intelligent  and 
amiable  Mrs.  Scott  is  removed  so  far  from  you.  She 
must  often  wish  to  embrace  the  lovely  daughter  of  a 
lost  friend — a  friend  so  dear  and  so  revered  ! 

The  style  of  Lady  Marianne's  letter  convinces  me 
that  she  has  a  mind  whose  tastes,  pursuits,  and  sensi- 
bilities preclude  the  irksome  lassitude  with  which 
retirement  is  apt  to  inspire  people  at  her  sprightly  time 
of  life.  Ah  !  dearest  Madam,  may  the  consciousness 
of  cheering  the  declining  years  of  a  beloved  father 
gild  the  silent  hours,  when  the  rocks  frown  round  you 


DR.    DARWIN  135 

with  solemn  sternness,    and   the  winds   of  winter   are 
howling  over  the  ocean. 

Almost  five  years  are  elapsed  since  Dr.  Darwin  left 
Lichfield.  A  handsome  young  widow,  relict  of  Colonel 
Pole,  by  whom  she  had  three  children,  drew  from  us, 
in  the  hymeneal  chain,  our  celebrated  physician,  our 
poetic  and  witty  friend. 

The  Doctor  was  in  love  like  a  very  Celadon,  and  a 
numerous  young  family  are  springing  up  in  consequence 
of  a  union  which  was  certainly  a  little  unaccountable  ; 
not  that  there  was  any  wonder  that  a  fine,  graceful,  and 
affluent  young  woman  should  fascinate  a  grave  philo- 
sopher ;  but  that  a  sage  of  so  elegant  external,  and 
sunk  into  the  vale  of  years,  should,  by  so  gay  a  lady, 
be  preferred  to  younger,  richer,  and  handsomer  suitors, 
was  the  marvel ;  specially  since,  though  lively,  benevo- 
lent, and  by  no  means  deficient  in  native  wit,  she 
was  never  suspected  of  a  taste  for  science,  or  works 
of  imagination.  Yet  so  it  was  ;  and  she  makes  her 
ponderous  spouse  a  very  attached  and  indeed  devoted 
wife  !  The  poetic  philosopher,  in  return,  transfers  the 
amusement  of  his  leisure  hours  from  the  study  of 
botany  and  mechanics,  and  the  composition  of  odes 
and  heroic  verses,  to  fabricating  riddles  and  charades  ! 
Thus  employed,  his  mind  is  somewhat  in  the  same 
predicament  with  Hercules'  body  when  he  sat  amongst 
the  women  and  handled  the  distaff. 

Dr.  Darwin  finds  himself  often  summoned  to  Lich- 
field ;  indeed  whatever  symptoms  of  danger  arise  in 
the  diseases  of  those  whose  fortunes  are  at  all  competent 
to  the  expense  of  employing  a  distant  physician.  When 
I  see  him  he  shall  certainly  be  informed  how  kindly 
your  Ladyship  enquires  after  his  welfare  and  that 


136  ANNA    SEWARD 

of  his  family.  His  eldest  son  by  his  first  wife,  who  was 
one  of  the  most  enlightened  and  charming  of  women, 
died  of  a  putrid  fever  while  he  was  studying  physic 
at  Edinburgh  with  the  most  sedulous  attention  and 
the  most  promising  ingenuity.  His  second  is  an  attorney 
at  Derby,  of  very  distinguished  merit  both  as  to  intellect 
and  virtue  ;  and  your  playfellow,  Robert,  grown  to  an 
uncommon  height,  gay  and  blooming  as  a  morn  of 
summer,  pursues  medical  studies  in  Scotland,  under 
happier  auspices,  I  hope,  than  his  poor  brother. 

I  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  my  mother  in  the  year 
1780.  My  dearest  father  yet  lives,  but  his  existence 
hangs  by  a  very  slender  thread  ;  since,  however,  he 
suffers  no  pain  nor  depression  of  spirits,  I  bless  God 
that  he  yet  lifts  up  his  feeble  hands  to  bless  me. 

Lady  Marianne  Carnegie  has  no  reason  to  doubt 
her  epistolary  talents.  The  proof  of  their  elegance 
is  before  me  ;  but  dearer  far  is  their  kindness  than 
their  grace.  Ah  !  Madam,  the  affection  which  that 
kindness  has  excited  in  my  heart  creates  a  tender 
interest  in  all  you  say  to  me,  beyond  the  reach  of  literary 
communication,  scenic  description,  or  the  most  brilliant 
wit  to  inspire,  unaided  by  that  sentiment  which  binds 
me  to  you  !  I  am,  Madam,  etc. 


Anna  Seward  to 

AN    OLD    MAID 

January  30,  1786. 

Apropos  of  old  maids,  after  a  gradual  decline  of  a 
few  months,  we  have  lost,  dear  Mrs.  Porter,  the  earliest 
object  of  Dr.  Johnson's  love.  This  was  some  years 


MRS.    LUCY    PORTER  137 

before  he  married  her  mother.  In  youth,  her  fair, 
clear  complexion,  bloom,  and  rustic  prettiness,  pleased 
the  men.  More  than  once  she  might  have  married 
advantageously  ;  but,  as  to  the  enamoured  affections, 

High  Taurus'  snow,  fann'd  by  the  eastern  wind, 
Was  not  more  cold. 

Spite  of  the  accustomed  petulance  of  her  temper, 
and  odd  perverseness,  since  she  had  no  malignance  I 
regret  her  as  a  friendly  creature,  of  intrinsic  worth, 
with  whom,  from  childhood,  I  had  been  intimate. 
She  was  one  of  those  few  beings  who,  from  a  sturdy 
singularity  of  temper,  and  some  prominent  good  qualities 
of  head  and  heart,  was  enabled,  even  in  her  days  of 
scanty  maintenance,  to  make  society  glad  to  receive 
and  pet  the  grown  spoiled  child.  Affluence  was  not  hers 
till  it  came  to  her  in  her  fortieth  year,  by  the  death 
of  her  eldest  brother.  From  the  age  of  twenty  till 
lhat  period  she  had  boarded  in  Lichfield  with  Dr. 
Johnson's  mother,  who  still  kept  that  little  bookseller's 
shop  by  which  her  husband  had  supplied  the  scanty 
means  of  existence.  Meanwhile,  Lucy  Porter  kept 
the  best  company  of  our  little  city,  but  would  make 
no  engagement  on  market-days,  lest  Granny,  as  she 
called  Mrs.  Johnson,  should  catch  cold  by  serving  in 
the  shop.  There  Lucy  Porter  took  her  place,  standing 
behind  the  counter,  nor  thought  it  a  disgrace  to  thank 
a  poor  person  who  purchased  from  her  a  penny  battle- 
dore. 

With  a  marked  vulgarity  of  address  and  language, 
and  but  unintellectual  cultivation,  she  had  a  certain 
shrewdness  of  understanding  and  piquant  humour, 
with  the  most  perfect  truth  and  integrity.  By  these 


138  ANNA    SEWARD 

good  traits  in  her  character  were  the  most  respectable 
inhabitants  of  this  place  induced  to  bear,  with  kind 
smiles,  her  mulish  obstinacy  and  perverse  contra- 
dictions. Johnson  himself,  often  her  guest,  set  the 
example,  and  extended  to  her  that  compliant  indulgence 
which  he  shewed  not  to  any  other  person.  I  have 
heard  her  scold  him  like  a  school-boy  for  soiling  her 
floor  with  his  shoes,  for  she  was  clean  as  a  Dutch  woman 
in  her  house,  and  exactly  neat  in  her  person.  Dress  too 
she  loved  in  her  odd  way  ;  but  we  will  not  assert  that 
the  Graces  were  her  handmaids.  Friendly,  cordial,  and 
cheerful  to  those  she  loved,  she  was  more  esteemed, 
more  amusing,  and  more  regretted  than  many  a  polished 
character,  over  whose  smooth  but  insipid  surface  the 
attention  of  those  who  have  mind  passes  listless  and 
uninterested.  .  .  . 

Adieu.  Do  I  flatter  myself  inordinately  by  the  idea 
that  I  am  sometimes  regretted  in  that  circle  at  Wellsburn, 
which  so  well  understands  how  to  speed  and  illuminate 
the  winter's  day  ? 


FRANCES  BURNEY  (MADAME  D'ARBLAY)  (1752-1840) 

A  DAUGHTER  of  Dr.  Burney,  organist,  of  Lynn.  She  began 
writing  at  the  age  of  ten,  but  on  her  fifteenth  birthday  burnt 
all  she  had  written.  In  1778  "  Evelina,"  her-  first  book, 
was  published  anonymously,  but  Dr.  Burney  recognised  his 
daughter's  writing,  and  soon  told  Mrs.  Thrale,  with  whom 
she  became  a  great  favourite.  She  was  also  a  friend  of 
Dr.  Johnson,  and  other  well-known  people  of  her  day. 
Through  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Delany,  she  held  an  appointment 
in  the  Royal  Household,  but  eventually  resigned  it  owing  to 
ill-health.  In  1793  she  was  married  to  General  D'Arblay, 


AT    TEA    WITH    DR.    JOHNSON  139 

a  French  refugee,  and  after  some  years'  residence  in  England, 
they  went  to  live  near  Paris.  Fanny  Burney  wrote  other 
books :  a  Tragedy  in  which  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Kemble 
appeared,  and  her  deservedly  well-known  Journal  and  Letters. 


To  Mrs.   Thrale 

TAKING   TEA   WITH    DR.    JOHNSON 

July   1780. 

Nobody  does  write  such  sweet  letters  as  my  dear 
Mrs.  Thrale,  and  I  would  sooner  give  up  a  month's 
allowance  of  meat  than  my  week's  allowance  of  an 
epistle. 

The  report  of  the  Parliament's  dissolution  I  hope  is 
premature.  I  inquire  of  everybody  I  see  about  it,  and 
always  hear  that  it  is  expected  now  to  last  almost  as 
long  as  it  can  last.  Why,  indeed,  should  Government 
wish  to  dissolve  it,  when  they  meet  with  no  opposition 
from  it  ? 

Since  I  wrote  last  I  have  drunk  tea  with  Dr.  Johnson. 
My  father  took  me  to  Bolt  Court,  and  we  found  him 
most  fortunately,  with  only  one  brass-headed-cane 
gentleman.  Since  that,  I  have  had  the  pleasure  to 
meet  him  again  at  Mrs.  Reynolds's,  when  he  offered 
to  take  me  with  him  to  Grub  Street,  to  see  the  ruins 
of  the  house  demolished  there  in  the  late  riots,  by 
a  mob  that,  as  he  observed,  could  be  no  friend  to  the 
Muses  !  He  inquired  if  I  had  ever  yet  visited  Grub 
Street,  but  was  obliged  to  restrain  his  anger  when  I 
answered  "No,"  because  he  acknowledged  he  had 
never  paid  his  respects  to  it  himself.  "  However/1 
says  he,  "  you  and  I,  Burney,  will  go  together  ;  we  have 
a  very  good  right  to  go,  so  we'll  visit  the  mansions  of 


138  ANNA    SEWARD 

good  traits  in  her  character  were  the  most  respectable 
inhabitants  of  this  place  induced  to  bear,  with  kind 
smiles,  her  mulish  obstinacy  and  perverse  contra- 
dictions. Johnson  himself,  often  her  guest,  set  the 
example,  and  extended  to  her  that  compliant  indulgence 
which  he  shewed  not  to  any  other  person.  I  have 
heard  her  scold  him  like  a  school-boy  for  soiling  her 
floor  with  his  shoes,  for  she  was  clean  as  a  Dutch  woman 
in  her  house,  and  exactly  neat  in  her  person.  Dress  too 
she  loved  in  her  odd  way  ;  but  we  will  not  assert  that 
the  Graces  were  her  handmaids.  Friendly,  cordial,  and 
cheerful  to  those  she  loved,  she  was  more  esteemed, 
more  amusing,  and  more  regretted  than  many  a  polished 
character,  over  whose  smooth  but  insipid  surface  the 
attention  of  those  who  have  mind  passes  listless  and 
uninterested.  .  .  . 

Adieu.  Do  I  flatter  myself  inordinately  by  the  idea 
that  I  am  sometimes  regretted  in  that  circle  at  Wellsburn, 
which  so  well  understands  how  to  speed  and  illuminate 
the  winter's  day  ? 


FRANCES  BURNEY  (MADAME  D'ARBLAY)  (1752-1840) 

A  DAUGHTER  of  Dr.  Burney,  organist,  of  Lynn.  She  began 
writing  at  the  age  of  ten,  but  on  her  fifteenth  birthday  burnt 
all  she  had  written.  In  1778  "  Evelina,"  her-  first  book, 
was  published  anonymously,  but  Dr.  Burney  recognised  his 
daughter's  writing,  and  soon  told  Mrs.  Thrale,  with  whom 
she  became  a  great  favourite.  She  was  also  a  friend  of 
Dr.  Johnson,  and  other  well-known  people  of  her  day. 
Through  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Delany,  she  held  an  appointment 
in  the  Royal  Household,  but  eventually  resigned  it  owing  to 
ill-health.  In  1793  she  was  married  to  General  D'Arblay, 


AT    TEA    WITH    DR.    JOHNSON  139 

a  French  refugee,  and  after  some  years'  residence  in  England, 
they  went  to  live  near  Paris.  Fanny  Burney  wrote  other 
books :  a  Tragedy  in  which  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Kemble 
appeared,  and  her  deservedly  well-known  Journal  and  Letters. 


To  Mrs.   Thrale 

TAKING   TEA    WITH    DR.    JOHNSON 

July  1780. 

Nobody  does  write  such  sweet  letters  as  my  dear 
Mrs.  Thrale,  and  I  would  sooner  give  up  a  month's 
allowance  of  meat  than  my  week's  allowance  of  an 
epistle. 

The  report  of  the  Parliament's  dissolution  I  hope  is 
premature.  I  inquire  of  everybody  I  see  about  it,  and 
always  hear  that  it  is  expected  now  to  last  almost  as 
long  as  it  can  last.  Why,  indeed,  should  Government 
wish  to  dissolve  it,  when  they  meet  with  no  opposition 
from  it  ? 

Since  I  wrote  last  I  have  drunk  tea  with  Dr.  Johnson. 
My  father  took  me  to  Bolt  Court,  and  we  found  him 
most  fortunately,  with  only  one  brass-headed-cane 
gentleman.  Since  that,  I  have  had  the  pleasure  to 
meet  him  again  at  Mrs.  Reynolds 's,  when  he  offered 
to  take  me  with  him  to  Grub  Street,  to  see  the  ruins 
of  the  house  demolished  there  in  the  late  riots,  by 
a  mob  that,  as  he  observed,  could  be  no  friend  to  the 
Muses  !  He  inquired  if  I  had  ever  yet  visited  Grub 
Street,  but  was  obliged  to  restrain  his  anger  when  I 
answered  "  No,"  because  he  acknowledged  he  had 
never  paid  his  respects  to  it  himself.  "  However," 
says  he,  "  you  and  I,  Burney,  will  go  together  ;  we  have 
a  very  good  right  to  go,  so  we'll  visit  the  mansions  of 


140  FRANCES    BURNEY 

our  progenitors,  and  take  up  our  own  freedom  to- 
gether." 

There's  for  you,  madam  !  What  can  be  grander  ? 
The  loss  of  Timoleon  is  really  terrible  ;  yet,  as  it  is 
an  incident  that  will  probably  dwell  no  little  time  upon 
the  author's  mind,  who  knows  but  it  may  be  productive 
of  another  tragedy,  in  which  a  dearth  of  story  will  not 
merely  be  no  fault  of  his,  but  no  misfortune  ? 

I  have  no  intelligence  to  give  about  the  Dean  of 
Coleraine,  but  that  we  are  now  in  daily  expectation  of 
hearing  of  his  arrival. 

Yesterday  I  drank  tea  at  Sir  Joshua's  and  met  by 
accident  with  Mrs.  Cholmondeley.  I  was  very  glad 
to  find  that  her  spirits  are  uninjured  by  her  misfortunes  ; 
she  was  as  gay,  flighty,  entertaining  and  frisky  as  ever. 
Her  sposo  is  not  confined,  as  was  said  ;  he  is  only  gone 
upon  his  travels  :  she  seems  to  bear  his  absence  with 
remarkable  fortitude.  After  all,  there  is  something 
in  her  very  attractive  ;  her  conversation  is  so  spirited, 
so  humorous,  so  enlivening,  that  she  does  not  suffer  one's 
attention  to  rest,  much  less  to  flag,  for  hours  together. 

Sir  Joshua  told  me  he  was  now  at  work  upon  your 
pictures,  touching  them  up  for  Streatham,  and  that 
he  has  already  ordered  the  frames,  and  shall  have  them 
quite  ready  whenever  the  house  is  in  order  for  them. 

I  also  met  at  his  house  Mr.  W.  Burke,  and  young 
Burke,  the  orator's  son,  who  is  made  much  ado  about, 
but  I  saw  not  enough  of  him  to  know  why. 

We  are  all  here  very  truly  concerned  for  Mr.  Chamier, 
who,  you  know,  is  a  very  great  favourite  among  us. 
He  is  very  ill,  and  thinks  himself  in  a  decline.  He  is 
now  at  Bath,  and  writes  my  father  word  he  has  made 
up  his  mind,  come  what  may. 


THE 

B   UNIVERSITY    I 

\  OF  / 

SIR    JOSHUA    REYNOLDS  141 

Your  good  news  of  my  master  glads  me,  however, 
beyond  what  good  news  of  almost  any  other  man  in 
the  world  could  do.  Pray  give  him  my  best  respects, 
and  beg  him  not  to  forget  me  so  much  as  to  look  strange 
upon  rne  when  we  next  meet ;  if  he  does  it  won't  be 
fair,  for  I  feel  that  I  shall  look  very  kind  upon  him. 

I  fancy  Miss  Thrale  is  quite  too  difficult ;  why  bless 
me,  by  "  something  happening  "  ?  I  never  meant  to 
wait  for  a  murder,  nor  a  wedding,  no,  nor  an  invasion, 
nor  an  insurrection  ;  any  other  horror  will  do  as  well. 
My  father  charges  me  to  give  you  his  kindest  love,  and 
not  daintify  his  affection  into  respects  or  compliments. 

Adieu,  dearest  madam,  and  from  me  accept  not  only 
love,  and  not  only  respects,  but  both,  and  gratitude, 
and  warmest  wishes,  and  constancy  invariable  into 
the  bargain. 

F.  BURNEY. 

I  am  very  glad  Mr.  Tidy  is  so  good.  Thank  him 
for  me,  and  tell  him  I  am  glad  he  keeps  my  place  open  ; 
and  pray  give  Dr.  Delap  my  compliments.  Has  he 
settled  yet  how  he  shall  dress  the  candle-snuffers  the 
first  night  ?  I  would  by  no  means  have  the  minutest 
directions  omitted. 


Fanny  Burney  to  Mrs.  Burney 

COURT    ETIQUETTE 

WINDSOR,  December  17,  1785. 

MY  DEAREST  HETTY, — I  am  sorry  I  could  not  more 
immediately  write  ;  but  I  really  have  not  had  a  moment 
since  your  last. 


142  FRANCES    BURNEY 

Now  I  know  what  your  next  want  is,  to  hear  accounts 
of  kings,  queens,  and  such  royal  personages.  O  no  ! 
do  you  so  ?  Well. 

Shall  I  tell  you  a  few  matters  of  fact  ? — or,  had  you 
rather  a  few  matters  of  etiquette  ?  Oh,  matters  of 
etiquette  you  cry  !  for  matters  of  fact  are  short  and 
stupid,  and  anybody  can  tell,  and  everybody  is  tired 
with  them. 

Very  well,  take  your  own  choice. 
To  begin,  then,  with  the  beginning. 
You  know  I  told  you  in  my  last  my  various  difficulties, 
what  sort  of  preferment  to  turn  my  thoughts  to,  and 
concluded  with  just  starting  a  young  budding  notion 
of  decision,   by   suggesting   that  a  handsome   pension 
for  nothing  at  all  would  be  as  well  as  working  night 
and  day  for  a  salary. 

This  blossom  of  an  idea,  the  more  I  dwelt  upon,  the 
more  I  liked.  Thinking  served  it  for  a  hot-house,  and 
it  came  out  into  full  blow  as  I  ruminated  upon  my  pillow. 
Delighted  that  thus  all  my  contradictory  and  wayward 
fancies  were  overcome,  and  my  mind  was  peaceably 
settled  what  to  wish  and  what  to  demand,  I  gave  over 
all  further  meditation  upon  choice  of  elevation  and 
had  nothing  more  to  do  but  to  make  my  election 
known. 

My  next  business,  therefore,  was  to  be  presented. 
This  could  be  no  difficulty  ;  my  coming  hither  had 
been  their  own  desire,  and  they  had  earnestly  pressed 
its  execution.  I  had  only  to  prepare  myself  for  the 
rencounter. 

You  would  never  believe — you,  who,  distant  from 
courts  and  courtiers,  know  nothing  of  their  ways — 
the  many  things  to  be  studied  for  appearing  with  a 


COURT    ETIQUETTE  143 

proper  propriety  before  crowned  heads.  Heads  without 
crowns  are  quite  other  sort  of  rotundas. 

Now  then  to  the  etiquette.  I  inquired  into  every 
particular,  that  no  error  might  be  committed.  And 
as  there  is  no  saying  what  may  happen  in  this  mortal 
life,  I  shall  give  you  those  instructions  I  have  received 
myself,  that,  should  you  find  yourself  in  the  royal 
presence,  you  may  know  how  to  comport  yourself. 

Directions  for  Coughing,  Sneezing,  or  Moving,  before  the 
King  and  Queen. 

In  the  first  place,  you  must  not  cough.  If  you  find 
a  cough  tickling  in  your  throat,  you  must  arrest  it 
from  making  any  sound  ;  if  you  find  yourself  choking 
with  the  forbearance,  you  must  choke — but  not  cough. 

In  the  second  place,  you  must  not  sneeze.  If  you 
have  a  vehement  cold,  you  must  take  no  notice  of  it ; 
if  your  nose-membranes  feel  a  great  irritation,  you 
must  hold  your  breath  ;  if  a  sneeze  still  insists  upon 
making  its  way,  you  must  oppose  it,  by  keeping  your 
teeth  grinding  together  ;  if  the  violence  of  the  repulse 
breaks  some  blood-vessel,  you  must  break  the  blood- 
vessel— but  not  sneeze. 

In  the  third  place,  you  must  not,  upon  any  account, 
stir  either  hand  or  foot.  If,  by  chance,  a  black  pin 
runs  into  your  head,  you  must  not  take  it  out.  If  the 
pain  is  very  great,  you  must  be  sure  to  bear  it  without 
wincing  ;  if  it  brings  the  tears  into  your  eyes,  you 
must  not  wipe  them  off ;  if  they  give  you  a  tingling 
by  running  down  your  cheeks,  you  must  look  as  if 
nothing  was  the  matter.  If  the  blood  should  gush 
from  your  head,  by  means  of  the  black  pin,  you  must 
let  it  gush  ;  if  you  are  uneasy  to  think  of  making  such 
a  blurred  appearance,  you  must  be  uneasy,  but  you 


144  FRANCES    BURNEY 

must  say  nothing  about  it.  If,  however,  the  agony  is 
very  great,  you  may,  privately,  bite  the  inside  of  your 
cheek,  or  of  your  lips,  for  a  little  relief,  taking  care, 
meanwhile,  to  do  it  so  cautiously  as  to  make  no  apparent 
dent  outwardly.  And  with  that  precaution,  if  you 
even  gnaw  a  piece  out,  it  will  not  be  minded,  orly  be 
sure  either  to  swallow  it,  or  commit  it  to  a  corner  of 
the  inside  of  your  mouth  till  they  are  gone — for 
you  must  not  spit. 

I  have  many  other  directions,  but  no  more  paper  ; 
I  will  endeavour,  however,  to  have  them  ready  for 
you  in  time.  Perhaps,  meanwhile  you  would  be  glad 
to  know  if  I  have  myself  had  opportunity  to  put  in 
practice  these  receipts. 

How  can  I  answer  in  this  little  space  ?     My  love  to 

Mr.  B and  the  little  ones,  and  remember  me  kindly 

to  cousin  Edward,  and  believe  me,  my  dearest  Esther, 
Most  affectionately    yours, 

F.  B. 

Fanny  Burney  to  Mrs.  Lock. 

HER    MAJESTY'S    CHICKENS  „ 

KE\V,  April  1789. 

MY  DEAREST  FRIENDS, — I  have  her  Majesty's  com- 
mands to  enquire — whether  you  have  any  of  a  certain 
breed  of  poultry  ? 

N.B. — What  breed  I  do  not  remember. 

And  to  say  she  has  just  received  a  small  group  of 
the  same  herself. 

N.B. — The  quantity  I  have  forgotten. 

And  to  add,  she  is  assured  they  are  something  very 
rare  and  scarce,  and  extraordinary  and  curious. 


HER    MAJESTY'S    CHICKENS  145 

N.B. — By  whom  she  was  assured  I  have  not  heard. 

And  to  subjoin,  that  you  must  send  word  if  you 
have  any  of  the  same  sort. 

N.B. — How  you  are  to  find  that  out,  I  cannot  tell. 

And  to  mention,  as  a  corollary,  that  if  you  have 
none  of  them,  and  should  like  to  have  some,  she  has 
a  cock  and  a  hen  she  can  spare,  and  will  appropriate 
them  to  Mr.  Lock  and  my  dearest  Freddy. 

This  conclusive  stroke  so  pleased  and  exhilarated 
me,  that  forthwith  I  said  you  would  be  both  enchanted, 
and  so  forgot  all  the  preceding  particulars. 

And  I  said,  moreover,  that  I  knew  you  would  rear 
them,  and  cheer  them,  and  fondle  them  like  your 
children. 

So  now — pray  write  a  very  fair  answer  fairly,  in  fair 
hand,  and  to  fair  purpose. 

My  Susanna  is  just  now  come — so  all  is  fair  with  my 
dearest  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lock's. 

F.  B. 

Fanny  Burney  to  her  father,  Dr.  Burney 

DORSET    LOYALTY 

GLOUCESTER  HOUSE,  WE Y MOUTH,  July  13,  1789. 
.  .  .  Col.  Goldsworthy  has  just  sent  me  in  a 
newspaper  containing  intelligence  that  Angelica  Kauff- 
mann  is  making  drawings  from  "  Evelina "  for  the 
Empress  of  Russia  ?  Do  you  think  the  Empress  of 
Russia  hears  of  anything  now  besides  Turkey  and 
the  Emperor  ?  And  is  not  Angelica  Kauffmann  dead  ? 
O  what  an  Oracle  \  for  such  is  the  paper  called. 

His  Majesty  is  in  delightful  health,  and  much  im- 
proved spirits.  All  agree  he  never  looked  better. 

10 


146  FRANCES    BURNEY 

The  loyalty  of  all  this  place  is  excessive  ;  they  have 
dressed  out  every  street  with  labels  of  "  God  save  the 
King  !  "  all  the  shops  have  it  over  the  doors  ;  all 
the  children  wear  it  in  their  caps,  all  the  labourers  in 
their  hats,  and  all  the  sailors  in  their  voices,  for  they 
never  approach  the  house  without  shouting  it  aloud, 
nor  see  the  King,  or  his  shadow,  without  beginning  to 
huzza,  and  going  on  to  three  cheers. 

The  bathing-machines  make  it  their  motto  over  all 
their  windows  ;  and  those  bathers  that  belong  to  the 
royal  dippers  wear  it  in  bandeaux  on  their  bonnets, 
to  go  into  the  sea  ;  and  have  it  again,  in  large  letters, 
round  their  waists,  to  encounter  the  waves. 

Flannel  dresses,  tucked  up,  and  no  shoes  or  stockings, 
with  bandeaux  and  girdles,  have  a  most  singular  appear- 
ance ;  and  when  first  I  surveyed  these  loyal  nymphs 
it  was  with  some  difficulty  I  kept  my  features  in  order. 

Nor  is  this  all.  Think  but  of  the  surprise  of  his 
Majesty  when,  the  first  time  of  his  bathing,  he  had 
no  sooner  popped  his  royal  head  under  water  than  a 
band  of  music,  concealed  in  a  neighbouring  machine, 
struck  up  "  God  save  Great  George  our  King." 

One  thing,  however,  was  a  little  unlucky.  When  the 
Mayor  and  burgesses  came  with  the  address,  they 
requested  leave  to  shake  hands.  This  was  graciously 
accorded  ;  but,  the  Mayor  advancing,  in  a  common 
way,  to  take  the  Queen's  hand,  as  he  might  that  of  any 
Lady  Mayoress,  Colonel  Gwynn,  who  stood  by,  whispered 
"  You  must  kneel,  sir."  He  found,  however,  that 
he  took  no  notice  of  this  hint,  but  kissed  the  Queen's 
hand  erect.  As  he  passed  him,  in  his  way  back,  the 
Colonel  said,  "  You  should  have  knelt,  sir  !  " 

"  Sir,"  answered  the  poor  Mayor,  "  I  cannot." 


MADAME    D'ARBLAY  14; 

"  Everybody  does,  sir." 
"  Sir — I  have  a  wooden  leg." 

Poor  man  !  'twas  such  a  surprise  !  and  such  an 
excuse  as  no  one  could  dispute. 

But  the  absurdity  of  the  matter  followed  ; — all  the 
rest  did  the  same  ;  taking  the  same  privilege,  by  the 
example,  without  the  same  or  any  cause. 

We  have  just  got  Mrs.  Piozzi's  book  *•  here.  My  Royal 
Mistress  is  reading  and  will  then  lend  it  me.  Have 
you  read  it  ?  ...  A  thousand  thanks  for  your  home 
news. 

I  am,  most  dear  Sir, 

Affectionately  and  dutifully,  your 

F.  B. 


Fanny  Burney  (Madame  D'Arblay)  to  Mrs.  - 

FANNY  BURNEY'S  MARRIAGE 

1793- 

The  account  of  your  surprise,  my  sweet  friend,  was 
the  last  thing  to  create  mine.  I  was  well  aware  of  the 
general  astonishment,  and  of  yours  in  particular.  My 
own,  however,  at  my  very  extraordinary  fate,  is  singly 
greater  than  that  of  all  my  friends  united.  I  had 
never  made  any  vow  against  marriage,  but  I  had  long, 
long,  been  firmly  persuaded  it  was  for  me  a  state  of 
too  much  hazard  and  too  little  promise  to  draw  me 
from  my  individual  plans  and  purposes.  I  remember, 
in  playing  at  questions  and  commands,  when  I  was 
thirteen,  being  asked  when  I  intended  to  marry, 
and  surprising  my  playmates  by  solemnly  replying, 
"  When  I  think  I  shall  be  happier  than  I  am  in  being 

1  Her  "  Journey  through  France,  Italy  and  Germany." 


148  FRANCES    BURNEY 

single."  It  is  true  I  imagined  that  time  would  never 
arrive  ;  and  I  have  pertinaciously  adhered  to  trying 
no  experiment  upon  any  other  hope  ;  for,  many  and 
mixed  as  are  the  ingredients  which  form  what  is 
generally  considered  as  happiness,  I  was  always  fully 
convinced  that  social  sympathy  of  character  and  taste 
could  alone  have  any  chance  with  me  ;  all  else,  I  always 
thought,  and  now  know,  to  be  immaterial.  I  have 
only  this  peculiar — that  what  many  contentedly  assert 
or  adopt  in  theory,  I  have  had  the  courage  to  be  guided 
by  practice.  ...  As  my  partner  is  a  Frenchman,  I 
conclude  the  wonder  raised  by  the  connexion  may 
spread  beyond  my  own  private  circle  ;  but  no  wonder 
upon  earth  can  ever  arrive  near  my  own  in  having  found 
such  a  character  from  that  nation.  This  is  a  prejudice 
certainly,  impertinent  and  very  John  Bullish,  and  very 
arrogant ;  but  I  only  share  it  with  all  my  countrymen, 
and  therefore  must  needs  forgive  both  them  and  myself. 
I  am  convinced,  however,  from  your  tender  solicitude 
for  me  in  all  ways,  that  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that 
the  Queen  and  all  the  Royal  Family  have  deigned  to 
send  me  wishes  for  my  happiness  through  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg,  who  has  written  me  "  what  you  call  "  a  very  kind 
congratulation.  .  .  . 

F.  D'A. 

Fanny    Burncy    (Madame     D'Arblay)     to    her    father, 
Dr.  Burney 

AN    OPERATION 

BOOKHAM,  March  16,  1797. 

MY  DEAREST  PADRE, — Relieved  at  length  from  a  terror 
that   almost  from   the   birth   of  my  little   darling  has 


INFANT    STOICISM  149 

hung  upon  my  mind,  with  what  confidence  in  your 
utmost  kindness  do  I  call  for  your  participation  in  my 
joy  that  all  alarm  is  over,  and  Mr.  Ansel  has  taken  his 
leave  !  I  take  this  large  sheet,  to  indulge  in  a  Babiania, 
which  "  dear  grandpa "  will,  I  am  sure,  receive  with 
partial  pleasure,  upon  this  most  important  event  to 
his  poor  little  gentleman. 

When  Mr.  Ansel  came  to  perform  the  dreaded  opera- 
tion, he  desired  me  to  leave  the  child  to  him  and  the 
maid  ;  but  my  agitation  was  not  of  that  sort :  I  wished 
for  the  experiment  upon  the  most  mature  deliberation  ; 
but  while  I  trembled  with  the  suspense  of  its  effect,  I 
could  not  endure  to  lose  a  moment  from  the  beloved 
little  object  for  and  with  whom  I  was  running  such  a 
risk. 

He  sat  upon  my  lap,  and  Mr.  Ansel  gave  him  a  bit  of 
barley-sugar,  to  obtain  his  permission  for  pulling  off 
one  sleeve  of  his  frock  and  shirt.  He  was  much  sur- 
prised at  this  opening  to  an  acquaintance — for 
Ansel  made  no  previous  visit,  having  sent  his  directions 
by  M.  D'Arblay.  However,  the  barley-sugar  occupied 
his  mouth,  and  inclined  him  to  a  favourable  interpreta- 
tion, though  he  stared  with  upraised  eyebrows.  Mr. 
Ansel  bid  Betty  hold  him  a  plaything  at  the  other  side, 
to  draw  off  his  eyes  from  what  was  to  follow,  and  I 
began  a  little  history  to  him  of  the  misfortunes  of  the 
toy  we  chose,  which  was  a  drummer,  maimed  in  his 
own  service,  and  whom  he  loves  to  lament,  under  the 
name  of  "  The  poor  man  that  has  lost  his  face."  But 
all  my  pathos  and  all  his  own  ever-ready  pity  were 
ineffectual  to  detain  his  attention  when  he  felt  his  arm 
grasped  by  Mr.  Ansel ;  he  repulsed  Betty,  the  soldier, 
and  his  mamma,  and  turned  about  with  a  quickness 


150  FRANCES    BURNEY 

that  disengaged  him  from  Mr.  Ansel,  who  now  desired 
me  to  hold  his  arm.  This  he  resisted,  yet  held  it  out 
himself  with  unconscious  intrepidity,  in  full  sight  of  the 
lancet,  which  he  saw  hovering  over  it,  without  the  most 
remote  suspicion  of  its  slaughtering  design,  and  with 
a  rather  amused  look  of  curiosity  to  see  what  was 
intended.  When  the  incision  was  made  he  gave  a  little 
scream,  but  it  was  momentary,  and  ended  in  a  look 
of  astonishment  at  such  an  unprovoked  infliction  that 
exceeds  all  description,  all  painting,  and  in  turning  an 
appealing  eye  to  me,  as  if  demanding  at  once  explana- 
tion and  protection. 

My  fondest  praises  now  made  him  understand  that 
non-resistance  was  an  act  of  virtue,  and  again  he  held 
out  his  little  arm,  at  our  joint  entreaty,  but  resolutely 
refused  to  have  it  held  by  any  one.  Mr.  Ansel  pressed 
out  the  blood  with  his  lancet  again  and  again,  and  wiped 
the  instrument  upon  the  wound  for  two  or  three  minutes, 
fearing,  from  the  excessive  strictness  of  his  whole 
life's  regimen,  he  might  still  escape  the  venom.  The 
dear  child  coloured  at  sight  of  the  blood,  and  seemed 
almost  petrified  with  amazement,  fixing  his  wondering 
eyes  upon  Mr.  Ansel  with  an  expression  that  sought 
to  dive  into  his  purpose,  and  then  upon  me,  as  if  en- 
quiring how  I  could  approve  of  it. 

When  this  was  over,  Mr.  Ansel  owned  himself  still 
apprehensive  it  might  not  take,  and  asked  if  I  should 
object  to  his  inoculating  the  other  arm.  I  told  him  I 
committed  the  whole  to  his  judgement,  as  M.  D'Arblay 
was  not  at  home.  And  now,  indeed,  his  absence  from 
this  scene,  which  he  would  have  enjoyed  with  the 
proudest  forebodings  of  future  courage,  became  doubly 
regretted,  for  my  little  hero,  though  probably  aware 


THE    OPERATION  151 

of  what  would  follow,  suffered  me  to  bare  his  other  arm, 
and  held  it  out  immediately,  while  looking  at  the  lancet ; 
nor  would  he  again  have  it  supported  or  tightened  ; 
and  he  saw  and  felt  the  incision  without  shrinking,  and 
without  any  marks  of  displeasure. 

But  though  he  appeared  convinced  by  my  caresses 
that  the  thing  was  right,  and  that  his  submission  was 
good,  he  evidently  thought  the  deed  was  unaccountable 
as  it  was  singular  ;  and  all  his  faculties  seemed  absorbed 
in  profound  surprise.  I  shall  never  cease  being  sorry 
his  father  did  not  witness  this,  to  clear  my  character 
from  having  adulterated  the  chivalric  spirit  and  courage  ' 
of  his  race.  Mr.  Ansel  confessed  he  had  never  similar 
instance  in  one  so  very  young,  and,  kissing  his  forehead 
when  he  had  done,  said,  "  Indeed,  little  sir,  I  am  in 
love  with  you." 

Since  this,  however,  my  stars  have  indulged  me  in  the 
satisfaction  of  exhibiting  his  native  bravery  where  it 
gives  most  pride  as  well  as  pleasure  ;  for  his  father  was 
in  the  room  when,  the  other  day,  Mr.  Ansel  begged  leave 
to  take  some  matter  from  his  arm  for  some  future 
experiments.  And  the  same  scene  was  repeated.  He 
presented  the  little  creature  with  a  bonbon,  and  then 
showed  his  lancet :  he  let  his  arm  be  bared  unresistingly, 
and  suffered  him  to  make  four  successive  cuts,  to  take 
matter  for  four  lancets,  never  crying,  nor  being  either 
angry  or  frightened,  but  only  looking  inquisitively  at 
us  all  in  turn,  with  eyes  you  would  never  have  for- 
gotten had  you  beheld,  that  seemed  disturbed  by  a 
curiosity  they  could  not  satisfy,  to  find  some  motive 
for  our  extraordinary  proceedings. 

Immediately  before  the  inoculation  the  faculty  of 
speech  seemed  most  opportunely  accorded  him,  and 


152  FRANCES    BURNEY 

that  with  a  sudden  facility  that  reminded  me  of  your 
account  of  his  mother's  first,  though  so  late  reading. 
At  noon  he  repeated  after  me,  when  I  least  expected 
it,  "  How  do  do  ?  "  and  the  next  morning,  as  soon  as 
he  awoke,  he  called  out,  "  How  do,  mamma  ?  How  do, 
papa  ?  "  I  give  you  leave  to  guess  if  the  question  was 
inharmonious.  From  that  time  he  has  repeated  readily 
whatever  we  have  desired  ;  and  yesterday,  while  he  was 
eating  his  dry  toast,  perceiving  the  cat,  he  threw  her 
a  bit,  calling  out,  "  Eat  it,  Buff !  "  Just  now,  taking 
the  string  that  fastens  his  gown  round  his  neck,  he 
said,  "  Ett's  tie  it  on,  mamma,"  and  when,  to  try  him, 
I  bid  him  say  naughty  papa,  he  repeated,  "  Naughty 
papa,"  as  if  mechanically  ;  but  the  instant  after,  spring- 
ing from  mine  to  his  arms,  he  kissed  him,  and  said, 
"  Dood  papa,"  in  a  voice  so  tender  it  seemed  meant  as 
an  apology. 

F.  D'A. 


LADY  HAMILTON   (Emma  Hart)    (1763  1815) 

WAS  of  humble  origin  and  at  one  time  a  servant-maid.  Her 
rare  beauty  attracted  the  attention  of  Romney,  who  painted 
over  twenty  portraits  of  her.  She  turned  the  heads  of  more 
than  one  man  of  importance  in  his  day — Charles  Greville, 
Sir  William  Hamilton,  and  lastly  Lord  Nelson.  She  died  in 
poverty  and  neglect  at  Calais  in  1815. 

To  Hon.  Charles  Greville,  M.P. 

THE   BACCHANTE 

NAPLES,  July  22,  1786. 

MY  EVER  DEAREST  GREVILLE, — I  am  now  onely  writing 
to  beg  of  you  for  God's  sake  to  send  me  one  letter,  if  it 


THE    BACCHANTE  153 

is  onely  a  farewell.  Sure  I  have  deserved  this,  for  the 
sake  of  the  love  you  once  had  for  me.  .  .  .  So,  pray,  let 
me  beg  of  you,  my  much  loved  Greville,  only  one  line 
from  your  dear,  dear  hands.  You  don't  know  how 
thankful  I  shall  be  for  it.  For  if  you  knew  the  misery 
[I]  feel,  oh  !  your  heart  would  not  be  intirely  shut  up 
against  me  ;  for  I  love  you  with  the  truest  affection. 
Don't  let  anybody  sett  you  against  me.  Some  of  your 
friends — your  foes,  perhaps  ;  I  don't  know  what  to 
stile  them — have  long  wisht  me  ill.  But,  Greville,  you 
never  will  meet  with  anybody  that  has  a  truer  affection 
for  you  than  I  have,  and  I  onely  wish  it  was  in  my  power 
to  shew  you  what  I  could  do  for  you.  As  soon  as  I 
know  your  determination  I  shall  take  my  own  measures. 
If  I  don't  hear  from  you,  and  that  you  are  coming  ac- 
cording to  promise,  I  shall  be  in  England  at  Christmas 
at  farthest.  Don't  be  unhappy  at  that.  I  will  see  you 
once  more,  for  the  last  time,  I  find  life  is  unsupportable 
without  you.  Oh,  my  heart  is  intirely  broke.  Then, 
for  God's  sake,  my  ever  dear  Greville,  do  write  to  me 
some  comfort.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  am  now 
in  that  state  I  am  incapable  of  anything.  I  have  [a] 
language-master,  a  singing-master,  musick,  etc.,  but 
what  is  it  for  ?  If  it  was  to  amuse  you,  I  should  be 
happy.  But,  Greville,  what  will  it  avail  me  ?  I  am 
poor,  helpeless  and  forlorn.  .  .  .  But  no  more,  I  will 
trust  to  providence  ;  and  wherever  you  go,  God  bless 
you  and  preserve  you,  and  may  you  all  ways  be  happy  ! 
But  write  to  Sir  William.  What  as  he  done  to  affront  ? 
If  I  have  spirits  I  will  tell  you  something  concerning 
how  we  go  on,  that  will  make  my  letter  worth  paying 
for.  Sir  William  wants  a  picture  of  me  the  size  of  the 
Bacante,  for  his  new  apartment,  and  he  will  take  that 


154  LADY    HAMILTON 

picture  of  me,  in  the  black  gown  at  Romney's,  and  I 
have  made  the  bargain  with  him,  that  the  picture  shall 
be  yours,  if  he  will  pay  for  it,  and  he  will,  and  I  have 
wrote  to  Romney  to  send  it. 

Their  is  two  painters  now  in  the  house,  painting  me. 
One  picture  is  finished.  It  is  the  size  of  the  Bacante, 
setting  in  a  turbin  and  Turkish  dress.  The  other  is  in 
a  black  rubin  hat  with  wite  feathers,  blue  silk  gown, 
etc.  But  as  soon  as  these  is  finished,  ther  is  two  more 
to  paint  me, — and  Angelaca,  if  she  comes.  And  March- 
mont  is  to  cut  a  head  of  me,  for  a  ring.  I  wish  Angelaca 
would  come  ;  for  Prince  Draydrixton  from  Veina  is  hear 
and  dines  with  us  often,  and  he  wants  a  picture  of  me. 
He  is  my  cavaliere — servente.  He  is  much  in  love 
with  me.  I  walk  in  the  Villa  Reale  every  night.  I 
have  generally  two  Princes,  two  or  3  nobles,  the 
English  minister,  and  the  King  with  a  crowd  beyound  us. 
The  Q  [ueen]  likes  me  much  and  desired  Prince  Dray- 
drixtone  to  walk  with  me  near  her,  that  she  might  get 
a  sight  of  me.  For  the  Prince  when  he  is  not  with  ous,  is 
with  the  Queen,  and  he  does  nothing  but  entertain  her 
with  my  beauty,  the  accounts  of  it,  etc.  But,  Greville, 
the  king  as  eyes  he  as  a  heart,  and  I  have  made  an  im- 
pression on  it.  ...  I  must  tell  you  a  piece  of  gallantry 
of  the  K.  .  .  .  On  Sunday  he  dines  at  Paysilipo,  and  he 
allways  comes  every  Sunday  before  the  casina  in  his 
boat  to  look  at  me.  We  had  a  small  deplomatic  party, 
and  we  was  sailing  in  our  boat,  the  K.  directly  came  up, 
put  his  boat  of  musick  next  us,  and  made  all  the  French 
horns  and  the  whole  band  play.  He  took  of  his  hat, 
and  sett  with  his  hat  on  his  knees  all  the  wile,  and  when 
we  was  going  to  land  he  made  his  bow,  and  said  it  was 
a  sin  he  could  not  speak  English.  But  I  have  him  in  my 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    BEAUTY  155 

train  every  night  at  the  Villa  or  Oppera.  I  have  been  to 
Pompea,  etc.,  etc.  and  we  are  going  next  week  round  the 
Island  Carprea,  Ischea,  etc.  We  shall  be  awhay  a  little 
while.  I  should  feil  pleasure  in  all  this,  if  you  was  heare. 
But  that  blessing  I  have  not,  and  so  I  must  make  the 
best  of  my  lot.  God  bless  you  !  I  would  write  a  longer 
letter.  But  I  am  going  to  Paysylipo  to  diner,  and  I 
have  a  conversazzione  to  night  and  a  concert. 

I  bathe  every  day.  I  have  not  any  irruptions,  and 
— what  will  surprise  you — I  am  so  remarkably  fair,  that 
everybody  says  I  put  on  red  and  white.  .  .  . 

We  have  had  dreadful  thunder  and  lightening.  It 
fell  at  the  Maltese  minister's  just  by  our  house  and 
burnt  is  beds  and  wires,  etc.  I  have  now  persuaded  Sir 
William  to  put  up  a  conductor  to  his  house.  The  lava 
runs  a  little,  but  the  mountain  is  very  full,  and  we  expect 
an  iruption  every  day.  I  must  stop,  or  else  I  shall  begin 
to  tell  you  my  ideas  of  the  people  of  Naples.  In  my 
next  I  will.  I  shall  write  you  an  Italian  letter  soon. 
God  bless  you.  Make  my  compliments  to  your  brother 
and  all  your  friends  thats  my  friends.  Pray  write  to 
Yours  ever — with  the  truest  and  sincerest  affection — 
God  bless  you — write  my  ever  dear,  dear  Greville. 

EMMA. 


Emma  Hart  (Lady  Hamilton)  to  Sir  William  Hamilton 

A   VISIT   TO   THE    CONVENT 

Wednesday,  January  10,  1787. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  WM., — I  had  hardly  time  to  thank  you 
for  your  kind  letter  of  this  morning  as  I  was  buisy  pre 
pairing  for  to  go  on  my  visit  to  the  Convent  of  St. 


156  LADY    HAMILTON 

Romita  ;  and  endead  I  am  glad  I  went,  tho'  it  was  a 
short  visit.  But  to-morrow  I  dine  with  them  in  full 
assembly.  I  am  quite  charmed  with  Beatrice  Acqua- 
viva.  Such  is  the  name  of  the  charming  whoman  I  saw 
to-day.  Oh,  Sir  William,  she  is  a  pretty  whoman. 
She  is  29  years  old.  She  took  the  veil  at  twenty,  and 
does  not  repent  to  this  day,  though,  if  I  am  a  judge  of 
pltysiognomy,  her  eyes  does  not  look  like  the  eyes  of 
a  nun.  They  are  airways  laughing,  and  something  in 
them  vastly  alluring,  and  I  wonder  the  men  of  Naples 
would  suffer  the  onely  pretty  whoman  who  is  realy 
pretty  to  be  shut  in  a  convent.  But  it  is  like  the  mean- 
spirited  ill  taste  of  the  Neapolitans.  I  told  her  I 
wondered  how  she  would  be  lett  to  hide  herself  from  the 
world,  and  I  daresay  thousands  of  tears  was  shed,  the 
day  she  deprived  Naples  of  one  of  its  greatest  ornaments. 
She  answered  with  a  sigh,  that  endead  numbers  of  tears 
was  shed,  and  once  or  twice  her  resolution  was  allmost 
shook,  but  a  pleasing  comfort  she  felt  at  regaining  her 
friends,  that  she  had  been  brought  up  [with],  and 
religious  considerations  strengthened  her  mind,  and  she 
parted  with  the  world  with  pleasure,  and  since  that 
time  one  of  her  sisters  had  followed  her  example,  and 
another — which  I  saw — was  preparing  to  enter  soon. 
But  neither  of  her  sisters  is  so  beautiful  as  her,  tho' 
the[y]  are  booth  very  agreable.  But  I  think  Beatrice 
is  charming,  and  I  realy  feil  for  her  an  affection.  Her 
eyes,  Sir  William,  is  I  don't  know  how  to  describe  them. 
I  stopt  one  hour  with  them,  and  I  had  all  the  good 
things  to  eat,  and  I  promise  you  they  don't  starve  them- 
selves. But  there  dress  is  very  becoming,  and  she  told 
me  that  she  was  allowed  to  wear  rings  and  muffs  and  any 
little  thing  she  liked,  and  endead  she  display d  to-day 


THE    CHARMING    NUN  157 

a  good  deal  of  finery,  for  she  had  4  or  5  dimond  rings 
on  her  fingers,  and  seemed  fond  of  her  muff.  She  has 
excelent  teeth  and  shows  them,  for  she  is  airways  laugh- 
ing. She  kissed  my  lips,  cheeks  and  forehead,  and  every 
moment  exclaimed  "  charming  fine  creature,"  admired 
my  dres,  said  I  looked  like  an  angel,  for  I  was  in  clear 
wite  dimity  and  a  blue  sash.  She  admired  my  hat  and 
fine  hair,  and  she  said  she  had  heard  I  was  good  to  the 
poor,  and  generous  and  noble-minded.  "  Now,"  she 
says,  "  it  would  be  worth  wile  to  live  for  such  a  one  as 
you.  Your  good  heart  would  melt  at  any  trouble  that 
befel  me,  and  partake  of  one's  greef  or  be  equaly  happy 
at  one's  good  fortune.  But  I  never  met  with  a  freind 
yet,  or  I  ever  saw  a  person  I  could  love  tell  now,  and  you 
shall  have  proofs  of  my  love."  In  short  I  sat  and 
listened  to  her,  and  the  tears  stood  in  my  eyes,  I  don't 
know  why ;  but  I  loved  her  at  that  moment.  I  thought 
what  a  charming  wife  she  would  have  made,  what  a 
mother  of  a  family,  and  what  a  freind,  and  the  first 
good  and  amiable  whoman  I  have  seen  since  I  came 
to  Naples  for  to  be  lost  to  the  world — how  cruel  !  She 
give  me  a  satten  pocket-booke  of  her  own  work,  and 
bid  me  think  of  her,  when  I  saw  it  and  was  many  miles 
far  off  ;  and  years  hence  when  she  peraps  should  be  no 
more,  to  look  at  it,  and  think  the  person  that  give  it 
had  not  a  bad  heart.  Did  not  she  speak  very  pretty  ? 
but  not  one  word  of  religion  ;  but  I  shall  be  happy 
today,  for  I  shall  dine  with  them  all  and  come  home  at 
night.  It  is  a  beautiful  house  and  garden,  and  the 
attention  of  them  was  very  pleasing.  There  is  sixty 
whomen  and  all  well-looking,  but  not  like  the  fair 
Beatrice.  "  Oh  Emma,"  she  says  to  me,  "  the[y] 
brought  here  the  Vieve  (?)  minister's  wife,  but  I  did 


158  LADY    HAMILTON 

not  like  the  looks  of  her  at  first.  She  was  little  short 
pinched-face,  and  I  receved  her  cooly.  How  different 
from  you,  and  how  surprised  was  I  in  seeing  you  tall  in 
statue.  We  may  read  your  heart  in  your  countenance, 
your  complexion,  in  short,  your  figure  and  features  is 
rare,  for  you  are  like  the  marble  statues  I  saw,  when  I 
was  in  the  world."  I  think  she  flatered  me  up,  but  I 
was  pleased.  .  .  .  my  dear  Sir  William, 

Your  truly  affectionate 

EMMA. 


Lady  Hamilton  to  the  Honourable  Charles  Greville 

NELSON    AT   NAPLES 

On  board  the  Foudroyant,  BAY  OF  NAPLES,  July  19,  1/99. 
f£  DEAR  SIR, — We  have  an  opportunity  of  sending  to 
England,  and  I  cannot  let  pass  this  good  opportunity 
without  thanking  you  for  your  kind  remembrance  in 
Sir  William's  letter.  Everything  goes  on  well  here.  We 
have  got  Naples,  all  the  Forts  ;  and  to-night  our  troops 
go  to  Capua.  His  Majesty  is  with  us  on  board,  were 
he  holds  his  Councils  and  Levees  every  day.  General 
Acton  and  Castelcicala  with  one  gentleman  of  the  bed- 
chamber attend  his  Majesty.  Sir  William  and  Lord 
Nelson  with  Acton  are  the  King's  Counsellers,  and  you 
may  be  ashured  that  the  future  government  will  be 
most  just  and  solid.  The  King  has  bought  his  ex- 
perience most  dearly,  but  at  last  he  knows  his  friends 
from  his  enemies,  and  also  knows  the  defects  of  his 
former  government,  and  is  determined  to  remedy  them. 
For  he  has  great  good  sense,  and  his  misfortunes  have 
made  him  steady  and  look  into  himself. 


NELSON    AT    NAPLES  150 

The  Queen  is  not  come.  She  sent  me  as  her  Deputy, 
for  I  am  very  popular,  speak  the  Neapolitan  language, 
and  [am]  consider'd  with  Sir  William,  the  friend  of  the 
people.  The  Queen  is  waiting  at  Palermo,  and  she  is 
determined  as  there  has  been  a  great  outcry  against  her, 
not  to  risk  coming  with  the  King  ;  for  if  it  had  not 
succeeded  [on]  his  arrival,  and  he  not  been  well  received, 
she  wou'd  not  bear  the  blame,  nor  be  in  the  way.  We 
arrived  before  the  King  14  days,  and  I  had  privately 
seen  all  the  Loyal  party,  and  having  the  head  of  the 
Lazerony  an  old  friend,  he  came  in  the  night  of  our 
arrival,  and  told  me  had  90  thousand  Lazeronis  ready 
at  the  holding  up  of  his  finger,  with  .  .  .  with  arms. 
Lord  Nelson  to  whom  I  enterpreted,  got  a  large  supply 
of  arms  for  the  rest,  and  they  were  deposited  with  this 
man.  In  the  mean  time,  the  .  .  .  were  waiting  in 
orders.  The  bombs  were  sent  into  St.  Elmo,  were 
returned i  and  the  citty  in  confusion.  I  sent  for  Hispali, 
the  head  of  the  Lazeroni,  and  told  him,  in  great  con- 
fidence, that  the  king  wou'd  be  soon  at  Naples,  and 
that  all  we  required  of  him  was  to  keep  the  citty  quiet 
for  ten  days,  from  that  moment.  We  give  him  onely 
one  hundred  of  our  marine  troops.  These  brave  men 
kept  all  the  town  in  order.  And  he  brought  the  heads 
of  all  his  90  thousand  round  the  ship  on  the  King's 
arrival ;  and  he  is  to  have  promotion.  I  have  through 
him  made  "  the  Queen's  party  "  ;  and  the  people  at  large 
have  pray'd  her  to  come  back,  and  she  is  now  very 
popular.  /  send  her  every  night  a  messenger  to  Palmero, 
with  all  the  news  and  letters,  and  she  gives  me  the  same 
[way].  I  have  given  audiences  to  those  of  her  party, 
and  settled  matters  between  the  nobility  and  Her 
Majesty.  She  is  not  to  see  on  her  arrival  any  of  her 


160  LADY    HAMILTON 

former  evil  counselers,  nor  the  women  of  fashion,  alltho 
Ladys  of  the  Bedchamber, — formerly  her  friends  and 
companions,  who  did  her  dishonour  by  their  desolute 
life. 

All,  all  is  changed.  She  has  been  very  unfortunate; 
but  she  is  a  good  woman,  and  has  sense  enough  to 
promt  of  her  past  unhappiness,  and  will  make  for  the 
future  amende  honorable  for  the  past.  In  short,  if  I 
can  judge,  it  may  turn  out  fortunate  that  the  Neapolitans 
have  had  a  dose  of  Republicanism. 

But  what  a  glory  to  our  Good  King,  to  our  Country, 
to  ourselves,  that  we — our  brave  fleet,  our  great  Nelson — 
have  had  the  happiness  of  restoring  [the]  King  to  his 
throne,  to  the  Neapolitans  their  much  loved  King,  and 
been  the  instrument  of  giving  a  future  solid  and  just 
government  to  the  Neapolitans. 

The  measures  the  King  is  taking  are  all  to  be  approved 
of.  The  guilty  are  punish'd,  and  the  faithful  are  re- 
warded. I  have  not  been  on  shore  but  once.  The  King 
gave  us  leave  to  go  as  far  as  St.  Elmo's  to  see  the  effect 
of  the  bombs.  I  saw  at  a  distance  our  despoiled  house, 
dnd  town,  and  villa,  that  have  been  plundered.  Sir 
William's  new  apartment, — a  bomb  burst  in  it  !  But 
it  made  me  so  low-spirited,  I  don't  desire  to  go  again. 

We  shall,  as  soon  as  the  government  is  fixed,  return 
to  Palermo,  and  bring  back  the  Royal  family  ;  for  I 
forsee  not  any  permanent  government,  till  that  event 
takes  place.  Nor  would  it  be  politick,  after  all  the 
hospitality  the  King  and  Queen  received  at  Palermo, 
to  carry  them  off  in  a  hurry.  So,  you  see,  there  is 
great  management  required. 

I  am  quite  worn  out.  For  I  am  enterpreter  to  Lord 
Nelson  the  King,  and  the  Queen ;  and  altogether 


THE    KING    AND    QUEEN    OF    NAPLES      161 

fell  quite  shatter 'd  ;  but,  as  things  go  well,  that  keeps 
me  up.  We  dine  now  every  day  with  the  King  at 
12  o'clock.  Dinner  is  over  by  one.  His  Majesty  goes 
to  sleep,  and  we  sit  down  to  write  in  this  heat ;  and 
on  board  you  may  guess  what  we  suffer. 

My  mother  is  at  Palermo.  But  I  have  an  English 
lady  with  me,  who  is  of  use  to  me  in  writing,  and  helping 
to  keep  papers  and  things  in  order.  We  have  given  the 
King  all  the  upper  cabbin  ;  all  but  one  room  that  we 
write  in  and  receive  the  ladies  who  come  to  the  King. 
Sir  William  and  I  have  an  appartment  ...  in  the 
ward -room  (?)  ;  and  as  to  Lord  Nelson,  he  is  here  and 
there  and  everywhere.  I  never  saw  such  zeal  and 
activity  in  any  one  as  in  this  wonderful  man.  My 
dearest  Sir  William,  thank  God  !  is  well,  and  of  the 
greatest  use  now  to  the  King.  We  hope  Capua  will  fall 
in  a  few  days,  and  then  we  shall  be  able  to  return  to 
Palermo.  On  Sunday  last,  we  had  prayers  on  board. 
The  King  assisted,  and  was  much  pleased  with  the  order, 
decency,  and  good  behaviour  of  the  men,  the  officers, 
etc.  Pray  write  to  me.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  Sir, 
and  believe  me, 

Ever  yours  affectionately, 

EMMA  HAMILTON. 

Lady  Hamilton  to  Lord  Nelson 

THE    LAST   LETTER1 

CANTERBURY,  October  8,  1805. 

DEAREST  HUSBAND  OF  MY  HEART, — You  are  all  in 
this  world  to  your  Emma — may  God  send  you  victory 

i  This  letter  was  returned  unopened  on  account  of  Nelson's 
death. 

II 


1 62  HELEN    MARIA    WILLIAMS 

and  Honour  [and]  soon  to  your  Emma,  Horatia  and 
paradise  Merton,  for  when  you  are  there  it  will  be 
paradise.  My  own  Nelson.  May  God  prosper  you 
and  preserve  you  for  the  sake  of  your  affectionate 

EMMA. 

HELEN  MARIA  WILLIAMS   (1762-1827) 

SHE  was  born  at  Berwick,  came  to  London  in  1781,  and 
began  her  literary  career  by  writing  verse.  Seven  years  later 
she  went  on  a  visit  to  Paris,  where  she  stayed  during  the 
Revolution,  and  strongly  supported  its  principles.  Imprisoned 
by  Robespierre,  she  narrowly  escaped  being  guillotined. 
Her  sketches  and  letters  deal  with  the  condition  of  France 
during  the  Revolutionary  period,  but  by  critics  are  said 
to  be  one-sided,  and  therefore  as  a  matter  of  history  are 
unreliable. 

To  a  Friend 

SIGHTSEEING    DURING  THE    REVOLUTION 

[PARIS,  1790.] 

We  have  been  at  all  the  theatres,  and  I  am  charmed 
with  the  comic  actors.  The  tragic  performers  afforded 
me  much  less  pleasure.  Before  we  can  admire  Madame 
Vestris,  the  first  tragic  actress  of  Paris,  we  must  have 
lost  the  impression  (a  thing  impossible)  of  Mrs.  Siddons's 
performance  ;  who,  "  instead  of  tearing  a  passion  to 
rags,"  like  Madame  Vestris,  only  tears  the  hearts  of 
the  audience  with  sympathy. 

Most  of  the  pieces  we  have  seen  at  the  French  theatres 
have  been  little  comedies  relative  to  the  circumstances 
of  the  times,  and,  on  that  account,  preferred,  in  this 
moment  of  enthusiasm,  to  all  the  wit  of  Moliere.  These 
little  pieces  might  perhaps  read  coldly  enough  in  your 


CA    IRA  163 

study,  but  have  a  most  charming  effect  with  an  accom- 
paniment of  applause  from  some  hundreds  of  the 
National  Guards,  the  real  actors  in  the  scenes  represented. 
Between  the  acts  national  songs  are  played,  in  which 
the  whole  audience  join  in  chorus.  There  is  one  air 
in  particular  which  is  so  universal  a  favourite  that  it 
is  called  "  Le  Carrillon  National  "  :  the  burden  of  the 
song  is  "  Ca  ira."  It  is  sung  not  only  at  every  theatre, 
and  in  every  street  in  Paris,  but  in  every  town  and 
village  in  France,  by  man,  woman,  and  child.  "  Ca  ira  " 
is  everywhere  the  signal  of  pleasure,  the  beloved  sound 
which  animated  every  bosom  with  delight,  and  of 
which  every  ear  is  enamoured.  And  I  have  heard  the 
most  serious  political  conversations  end  by  a  sportive 
assurance,  in  allusion  to  this  song,  que  "  Ca  ira  !  " 

Giornowiche,  the  celebrated  player  on  the  violin, 
who  was  so  much  the  fashion  last  winter  at  London, 
I  am  told,  sometimes  amused  himself  at  Paris  by 
getting  up  into  one  of  the  trees  of  the  Palais  Royal, 
after  it  was  dark,  and  calling  forth  tones  from  his  violin, 
fit  to  "  take  the  prisoned  soul,  and  lap  it  into  Elysium." 
He  has  frequently  detained  some  thousands  of  people 
half  the  night  in  the  Palais  Royal,  who,  before  they 
discovered  the  performer,  used  to  call  out  in  rapture, 
"  Bravo,  bravo  ;  c'est  mieux  que  Giornowiche/' 

I  am  just  returned  from  seeing  the  Gobelin  tapestry, 
which  appears  the  work  of  magic.  It  gave  me  pleasure 
to  see  two  pictures  of  Henry  IV.  In  one,  he  is  placed 
at  supper  with  the  miller's  family  ;  and  in  the  other 
he  is  embracing  Sully,  who  is  brought  forward  on  a 
couch,  after  having  been  wounded  in  battle.  Nothing 
has  afforded  me  more  delight,  since  I  came  to  France^ 
than  the  honours  which  are  paid  to  my  favourite  hero, 


164  HELEN   MARIA    WILLIAMS 

Henry  IV.,  whom  I  prefer  to  all  the  Alexandras  and 
Frederics  that  ever  existed.  They  may  be  terribly 
sublime,  if  you  will,  and  have  great  claims  on  my 
admiration  ;  but  as  for  my  love,  all  that  portion  which 
I  bestow  on  heroes  is  already  in  Henry's  possession. 

Little  statues  of  Henry  IV.  and  Sully  are  very  common. 
Sully  is  represented  kneeling  at  the  feet  of  this  amiable 
prince,  who  holds  out  his  hand  to  him  ;  and  on  the 
base  of  the  same  are  written  the  words  which  Sully 
records  in  his  memoirs  :  "  Mais  levez-vous,  levez-vous 
done,  Sully,  on  croiroit  que  je  vous  pardonne." 

While  the  statue  of  Henry  IV.  on  the  Pont  Neuf  is 
illuminated  and  decorated  with  national  ribbon,  that 
of  Louis  XIV.,  in  the  Place  Victoire,  is  stripped  of  its 
former  ostentatious  ornaments  ;  the  nations,  which 
were  represented  enchained  at  his  feet,  having  been 
removed  since  the  Revolution.  The  figure  of  Fame  is, 
however,  still  left  hovering  behind  the  statue  of  the 
King,  with  a  crown  of  laurel  in  her  hand,  which,  it  is 
generally  supposed,  she  is  going  to  place  upon  his  head. 

But  I  have  heard  of  a  French  wit  who  enquired 
whether  it  was  really  her  intention  to  place  the  laurel 
on  his  Majesty's  head,  or  whether  she  had  just  taken 
it  off. 

In  our  ride  this  morning  we  stopped  at  the  Place 
Royale,  where  I  was  diverted  by  reading,  on  the  front 
of  a  little  shop  under  the  piazzas,  these  words  :  Robelin, 
ecrivain. — Memoires  et  lettres  ecrites  a  juste  prix,  a  la 
nation."  I  am  told  that  Mons.  Robelin  is  in  very 
flourishing  business  ;  and  perhaps  I  might  have  had 
recourse  to  him  for  assistance  in  my  correspondence 
with  you,  if  I  did  not  leave  Paris  to-morrow.  You  shall 
hear  from  me  from  Rouen. 


THE    BASTILLE  165 

Helen  Maria  Williams  to  a  Friend 

A   VISIT   TO   THE   BASTILLE 


Before  I  suffered  my  friends  at  Paris  to  conduct  me 
through  the  usual  routine  of  convents,  churches,  and 
palaces,  I  requested  to  visit  the  Bastille,  feeling  a 
much  stronger  desire  to  contemplate  the  ruins  of  that 
building  than  the  most  perfect  edifices  of  Paris.  When 
we  got  into  the  carriage,  our  French  servant  called  to 
the  coachman,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  "  A  la  Bastille  — 
mais  nous  n'y  resterons  pas."  We  drove  under  that 
porch  which  so  many  wretches  have  entered  never  to 
repass,  and,  alighting  from  the  carriage,  descended  with 
difficulty  into  the  dungeons,  which  were  too  low  to  admit 
of  our  standing  upright,  and  so  dark  that  we  were 
obliged  at  noon-day  to  visit  them  with  the  light  of  a 
candle.  We  saw  the  hooks  of  those  chains  by  which 
the  prisoners  were  fastened  round  the  neck  to  the 
walls  of  their  cells  ;  many  of  which,  being  below  the 
level  of  the  water,  are  in  a  constant  state  of  humidity  ; 
and  a  noxious  vapour  issued  from  them,  which  more 
than  once  extinguished  the  candle,  and  was  so  in- 
sufferable that  it  required  a  strong  spirit  of  curiosity 
to  tempt  one  to  linger.  Good  God  !  —  and  to  these 
regions  of  horror  were  human  creatures  dragged  at 
the  caprice  of  despotic  power.  What  a  melancholy 
consideration  that 

Man  !  proud  man, 
Drest  in  a  little  brief  authority, 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven 
As  makes  the  angels  weep. 

There  appears  to  be  a  greater  number  of  these  dungeons 


166  HELEN   MARIA    WILLIAMS 

than  one  could  have  imagined  the  hard  heart  of  tyranny 
itself  would  contrive  ;  for,  since  the  destruction  of  the 
building,  many  subterraneous  cells  have  been  dis- 
covered underneath  a  piece  of  ground  which  was  inclosed 
within  the  walls  of  the  Bastille,  but  which  seemed  a 
bank  of  solid  earth  before  the  horrid  secrets  of  this 
prison-house  were  disclosed.  Some  skeletons  were 
found  in  these  recesses,  with  irons  still  fastened  on 
their  decaying  bones. 

After  having  visited  the  Bastille,  we  may  indeed  be 
surprised  that  a  nation  so  enlightened  as  the  French 
submitted  so  long  to  the  oppressions  of  their  Govern- 
ment ;  but  we  must  cease  to  wonder  that  their  indignant 
spirits  at  length  shook  off  the  galling  yoke. 

Those  who  have  contemplated  the  dungeons  of  the 
Bastille,  without  rejoicing  in  the  French  Revolution, 
may,  for  aught  I  know,  be  very  agreeable  persons,  and 
very  agreeable  companions  in  the  hours  of  prosperity  ; 
but  if  my  heart  were  sinking  with  anguish  I  should 
not  fly  to  those  persons  for  consolation.  Sterne  says 
that  a  man  is  incapable  of  loving  one  woman  as  he 
ought  who  has  not  a  sort  of  an  affection  for  the  whole 
sex  ;  and  as  little  should  I  look  for  particular  sympathy 
from  those  who  have  no  feelings  of  general  philanthropy. 
If  the  splendour  of  a  despotic  throne  can  only  shine 
like  the  radiance  of  lightning  while  all  around  is  in- 
volved in  gloom  and  horror,  in  the  name  of  Heaven 
let  its  baleful  lustre  be  extinguished  for  ever.  May  no 
such  strong  contrast  of  light  and  shade  again  exist 
in  this  political  system  of  France  !  but  may  the  beams 
of  liberty,  like  the  beams  of  day,  shed  their  benign 
influence  on  the  cottage  of  the  peasant  as  well  as  on 
the  palace  of  the  monarch  !  May  liberty,  which  for 


SECRETS    OF   THE    PRISON-HOUSE       167 

so  many  ages  past  has  taken  pleasure  in  softening  the 
evils  of  the  bleak  and  rugged  climates  of  the  north, 
in  fertilising  a  barren  soil,  in  clearing  the  swamp,  in 
lifting  mounds  against  the  inundations  of  the  tempest, 
diffuse  her  blessings  also  on  the  genial  land  of  France 
and  bid  the  husbandman  rejoice  under  the  shade  of 
the  olive  and  the  vine. 

The  Bastille,  which  Henry  IV.  and  his  veteran  troops 
assailed  in  vain,  the  citizens  of  Paris  had  the  glory 
of  taking  in  a  few  hours.  The  advance  of  Mons.  de 
Launay  had  tempted  him  to  guard  this  fortress  with 
only  half  the  complement  of  men  ordered  by  Govern- 
ment ;  and  a  letter  which  he  received  the  morning  of 
the  1 4th  of  July,  commanding  him  to  sustain  the  siege 
till  the  evening,  when  succour  would  arrive,  joined  to 
his  own  treachery  towards  the  assailants,  cost  him 
his  life. 

The  courage  of  the  besiegers  was  inflamed  by  the 
horrors  of  famine,  there  being  at  this  time  only  twenty- 
four  hours'  provision  of  bread  in  Paris.  For  some  days 
the  people  had  assembled  in  crowds  round  the  shops  of 
the  bakers,  who  were  obliged  to  have  a  guard  of  soldiers 
to  protect  them  from  the  famished  multitude  ;  while 
the  women,  rendered  furious  by  want,  cried,  in  the 
resolute  tone  of  despair,  "  II  nous  faut  du  pain  pour 
nos  enfans."  Such  was  the  scarcity  of  bread,  that  a 
French  gentleman  told  me  that  the  day  preceding  the 
taking  of  the  Bastille  he  was  invited  to  dine  with  a 
Negotiant,  and,  when  he  went,  was  informed  that  a 
servant  had  been  out  five  hours  in  search  of  bread,  and 
had  at  last  been  able  to  purchase  only  one  loaf. 

It  was  at  this  crisis,  it  was  to  save  themselves  the 
shocking  spectacle  of  their  wives  and  infants  perishing 


168  HELEN   MARIA    WILLIAMS 

before  their  eyes,  that  the  citizens  of  Paris  flew  to 
arms,  and,  impelled  by  such  causes,  fought  with  the 
daring  intrepidity  of  men  who  had  all  that  renders 
life  of  any  value  at  stake,  and  who  determined  to  die 
or  conquer.  The  women,  too,  far  from  indulging  the 
fears  incident  to  our  feeble  sex,  in  defiance  of  the  cannon 
of  the  Bastille,  ventured  to  bring  victuals  to  their 
sons  and  husbands  ;  and  with  a  spirit  worthy  of  Roman 
matrons,  encouraged  them  to  go  on.  Women  mounted 
guard  in  the  streets,  and  when  any  person  passed, 
called  out  boldly,  "  Qui  va  la  ?  " 

A  gentleman,  who  had  the  command  of  fifty  men  in 
this  enterprise,  told  me  that  one  of  his  soldiers  being 
killed  by  a  cannon-ball,  the  people,  with  great  marks 
of  indignation,  removed  the  corpse,  and  then,  snatching 
up  the  dead  man's  hat,  begged  money  of  the  bystanders 
for  his  interment,  in  a  manner  characteristic  enough 
of  that  gaiety  which  never  forsakes  the  French,  even 
on  such  occasions  as  would  make  any  other  people 
on  earth  furious.  "  Madame,  pour  ce  pauvre  diable 
qui  se  fait  tue  pour  la  Nation  ! — Mons.  pour  ce  pauvre 
chien  qui  se  fait  tue  pour  la  Nation  !  "  This  mode 
of  supplication,  though  not  very  pathetic,  obtained 
the  end  desired  ;  no  person  being  sufficiently  obdurate 
to  resist  the  powerful  plea,  "qu'il  se  fait  tue  pour  la 
Nation." 

When  the  Bastille  was  taken,  and  the  old  man,  of 
whom  you  have  no  doubt  heard,  and  who  had  been 
confined  in  a  dungeon  thirty-five  years,  was  brought 
into  daylight,  which  had  not  for  so  long  a  space  of 
time  visited  his  eyes,  he  staggered,  shook  his  white 
beard,  and  cried  faintly,  "  Gentlemen,  you  have  ren- 
dered me  one  great  service  ;  render  me  another,  kill 


THE    PRISONER    OF    THE    BASTILLE      169 

me  !  for  I  know  not  where  to  go."  "  Come  along,  come 
along/'  the  crowd  answered  with  one  voice,  "  the 
Nation  will  provide  for  you." 

As  the  heroes  of  the  Bastille  passed  along  the  streets 
after  its  surrender,  the  citizens  stood  at  the  doors  of 
their  houses,  loaded  with  wine,  brandy,  and  other 
refreshments,  which  they  offered  to  these  deliverers 
of  their  country.  But  they  unanimously  refused  to 
take  any  strong  liquors,  considering  the  great  work 
they  had  undertaken  as  yet  not  accomplished,  and 
being  determined  to  watch  the  whole  night  in  case  of 
any  surprise. 

All  those  who  had  assisted  in  taking  the  Bastille 
were  presented  by  the  municipality  of  Paris  with  a 
ribbon  of  the  national  colours,  on  which  is  stamped, 
inclosed  in  a  circle  of  brass,  an  impression  of  the  Bastille, 
and  which  is  worn  as  a  military  order. 

The  municipality  of  Paris  also  proposed  a  solemn 
funeral  procession  in  memory  of  those  who  lost  their 
lives  in  this  enterprise  ;  but,  on  making  application 
to  the  National  Assembly  for  a  deputation  of  its  members 
to  assist  at  this  solemnity,  the  Assembly  were  of  opinion 
that  these  funeral  honours  should  be  postponed  till  a 
more  favourable  moment,  as  they  might  at  present 
have  a  tendency  to  inflame  the  minds  of  the  people. 

I  have  heard  several  persons  mention  a  young  man, 
of  a  little,  insignificant  figure,  who,  the  day  before  the 
Bastille  was  taken,  got  up  on  a  chair  in  the  Palais 
Royal,  and  harangued  the  multitude,  conjuring  them 
to  make  a  struggle  for  their  liberty,  and  asserting  that 
now  the  moment  was  arrived. 

They  listened  to  his  eloquence  with  the  most  eager 
attention  ;  and,  when  he  had  instructed  as  many  as 


1 70  HELEN    MARIA    WILLIAMS 

could  hear  him  at  one  time,  he  requested  them  to  depart, 
and  repeated  his  harangue  to  a  new  set  of  auditors. 

Among  the  dungeons  of  the  Bastille  are  placed,  upon 
a  heap  of  stones,  the  figures  of  the  two  men  who  con- 
trived the  plan  of  this  fortress,  where  they  were  afterwards 
confined  for  life.  These  men  are  represented  chained  to 
the  wall,  and  are  beheld  without  any  emotion  of  sympathy. 

The  person  employed  to  remove  the  ruins  of  the 
Bastille  has  framed  of  the  stones  eighty-three  complete 
models  of  this  building,  which,  with  a  true  patriotic 
spirit,  he  has  presented  to  the  eighty-three  departments 
of  the  kingdom,  by  way  of  hint  to  his  countrymen  to 
take  care  of  their  liberties  in  future. 


MARY  WOLLSTONECRAFT   (Godwin)    (1759-1797) 

WAS  born  at  Hoxton.  From  her  childhood  her  home  was 
an  unhappy  one,  her  father  being  a  spendthrift  and  a  drunkard. 
At  nineteen  she  earned  her  living  as  a  governess  ;  but  some 
years  later  became  literary  adviser  to  J.  Johnson,  the  pub- 
lisher. She  lived  in  Paris  during  the  "  Terror,"  and  wrote 
a  history  of  the  Revolution.  She  was  practically  the  pioneer 
of  "  Women's  Rights,"  her  best-known  work  being  the 
"  Vindication  of  the  Rights  of  Women."  In  1797  Mary 
Wollstonecraft  married  William  Godwin,  and  died  at  the 
birth  of  her  daughter  Mary,  who  afterwards  became  the 
wife  of  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 

To  J.  Johnson 

THE    LAST   JOURNEY    OF   LOUIS   XVI. 

PARIS,  December  26,   1792. 

I  should  immediately  on  the  receipt  of   your   letter, 
my  dear  friend,  have  thanked  you  for  your  punctuality, 


MARY    WOLLSTONECRAFT 


From  a  photo  by  Emery  Walker,  after  the  picture  by  Opie  (probably 
painted  in  April  1797)  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery. 


p.  170] 


LOUIS    XVI  171 

for  it  highly  gratified  me,  had  I  not  wished  to  wait  till 
I  could  tell  you  that  this  day  was  not  stained  with  blood. 
Indeed  the  prudent  precautions  taken  by  the  National 
Convention  to  prevent  a  tumult  made  me  suppose 
that  the  dogs  of  faction  would  not  dare  to  bark,  much 
less  to  bite,  however  true  to  their  scent,  and  I  was 
not  mistaken  ;  for  the  citizens,  who  were  all  called 
out,  are  returning  home  with  composed  countenances, 
shouldering  their  arms.  About  nine  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing the  king  passed  by  my  window,  moving  silently 
along  (excepting  now  and  then  a  few  strokes  on  the  drum, 
which  rendered  the  stillness  more  awful)  through  empty 
streets,  surrounded  by  the  National  Guards,  who,  cluster- 
ing round  the  carriage,  seemed  to  deserve  their  name. 
The  inhabitants  flocked  to  their  windows,  but  the 
casements  were  all  shut,  not  a  voice  was  heard,  nor  did 
I  see  anything  like  an  insulting  gesture.  For  the  first 
time  since  I  entered  France,  I  bowed  to  the  majesty  of 
the  people,  and  respected  the  propriety  of  behaviour 
so  perfectly  in  unison  with  my  own  feelings.  I  can 
scarcely  tell  you  why,  but  an  association  of  ideas  made 
the  tears  flow  insensibly  from  my  eyes,  when  I  saw 
Louis  sitting,  with  more  dignity  than  I  expected  from 
his  character,  in  a  hackney  coach,  going  to  meet  death, 
where  so  many  of  his  race  have  triumphed.  My  fancy 
instantly  brought  Louis  XIV.  before  me,  entering  the 
capital  with  all  his  pomp,  after  one  of  the  victories 
most  flattering  to  his  pride,  only  to  see  the  sunshine 
of  his  prosperity  overshadowed  by  the  sublime  gloom 
of  misery.  I  have  been  alone  ever  since  ;  and,  though 
my  mind  is  calm,  I  cannot  dismiss  the  lively  images 
that  have  filled  my  imagination  all  the  day.  Nay, 
do  not  smile,  but  pity  me  ;  for,  once  or  twice,  lifting 


i/2  MARY    WOLLSTONECRAFT 

my  eyes  from  the  paper,  I  have  seen  eyes  glare  through 
a  glass  door  opposite  my  chair,  and  bloody  hands 
shook  at  me.  Not  the  distant  sound  of  a  footstep 
can  I  hear.  My  apartments  are  remote  from  those 
of  the  servants,  the  only  persons  who  sleep  with  me 
in  an  immense  hotel,  one  folding  door  opening  after 
another.  I  wish  I  had  even  kept  the  cat  with  me  ! 
I  want  to  see  something  alive ;  death  in  so  many 
frightful  shapes  has  taken  hold  of  my  fancy.  I  am  going 
to  bed,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  cannot  put 
out  the  candle. 

M.  W. 

Mary  W  ollstonecraft  to  Gilbert  Imlay 

ABSENCE 

PARIS,   1793,   Friday  Morning. 

I  am  glad  to  find  that  other  people  can  be  unreason- 
able as  well  as  myself;  for  be  it  known  to  thee  that 
I  answered  thy  first  letter  the  very  night  it  reached 
me  (Sunday),  though  thou  couldst  not  receive  it  before 
Wednesday,  because  it  was  not  sent  off  till  the  next 
day.  There  is  a  full,  true,  and  particular  account. 

Yet  I  am  not  angry  with  thee,  my  love,  for  I  think 
that  .it  is  a  proof  of  stupidity,  and  likewise  of  a  milk- 
and-water  affection,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing 
when  the  temper  is  governed  by  a  square  and  compass. 
There  is  nothing  picturesque  in  this  straight-lined 
equality,  and  the  passions  always  give  grace  to  the 
actions. 

Recollection  now  makes  my  heart  bound  to  thee  ; 
but  it  is  not  to  thy  money-getting  face,  though  I  cannot 
be  seriously  displeased  with  the  exertion  which  increases 


A    LOVE-LETTER  173 

my  esteem,  or  rather  is  what  I  should  have  expected 
from  thy  character.  No  ;  I  have  thy  honest  counten- 
ance before  me — relaxed  by  tenderness  ;  a  little — little 
wounded  by  my  whims  ;  and  thy  eyes  glittering  with 
sympathy.  Thy  lips  then  feel  softer  than  soft,  and  I 
rest  my  cheek  on  thine,  forgetting  all  the  world.  I 
have  not  left  the  hue  of  love  out  of  the  picture — the 
rosy  glow ;  and  fancy  has  spread  it  over  my  own 
cheeks,  I  believe,  for  I  feel  them  burning,  whilst  a 
delicious  tear  trembles  in  my  eye  that  would  be  all 
your  own,  if  a  grateful  emotion  directed  to  the  Father 
of  nature,  who  has  made  me  thus  alive  to  happiness, 
did  not  give  more  warmth  to  the  sentiment  it  divides. 
I  must  pause  a  moment. 

Need  I  tell  you  that  I  am  tranquil  after  writing  thus  ? 
I  do  not  know  why,  but  I  have  more  confidence  in 
your  affection,  when  absent,  than  present ;  nay,  I 
think  that  you  must  love  me,  for,  in  the  sincerity  of 
my  heart  let  me  say  it,  I  believe  I  deserve  your  tender- 
ness, because  I  am  true,  and  have  a  degree  of  sensibility 
that  you  can  see  and  relish. 

Yours  sincerely, 

MARY. 

Mary  Wollstonecraft  to  Gilbert  Imlay 

LITTLE  FANNY 

PARIS,  January  15,  1795. 

.  .  .  My  animal  is  well ;  I  have  not  yet  taught  her 
to  eat,  but  nature  is  doing  the  business.  I  gave  her 
a  crust  to  assist  the  cutting  of  her  teeth  ;  and  now 
she  has  two  she  makes  good  use  of  them  to  gnaw  a 
crust,  biscuit,  etc.  You  would  laugh  to  see  her ;  she 


174  MARY    WOLLSTONECRAFT 

is  just  like  a  little  squirrel ;  she  will  guard  a  crust 
for  two  hours,  and,  after  fixing  her  eyes  on  an  object 
for  some  time,  dart  on  it  with  an  aim  as  sure  as  a  bird 
of  prey — nothing  can  equal  her  life  and  spirits.  I 
suffer  from  a  cold,  but  it  does  not  affect  her.  Adieu. 
Do  not  forget  to  love  us — and  come  soon  to  tell  us 
that  you  do. 

MARY. 


Mary  Wollstomcraft  to  William  Godwin 

April  20,   1797. 

.  .  .  Fanny  is  delighted  with  the  thought  of  dining 
with  you.  But  I  wish  you  to  eat  your  meat  first,  and 
let  her  come  up  with  the  pudding.  I  shall  probably 
knock  at  your  door  in  my  way  to  Opie's  ;  but  should 
I  not  find  you,  let  me  request  you  not  to  be  too  late 
this  evening.  Do  not  give  Fanny  butter  with  her 
pudding. 

Mary  Wollstonecraft  to  Gilbert  Imlay 

IMPRESSIONS    OF   NORWAY 

TONSBERG,  NORWAY,  1795. 

I  left  East  Russia  the  day  before  yesterday.  The 
weather  was  very  fine  ;  but  so  calm  that  we  loitered 
on  the  water  near  fourteen  hours,  only  to  make  about 
six-and-twenty  miles. 

It  seemed  to  me  a  sort  of  emancipation  when  we 
landed  at  Helzeraac.  The  confinement  which  every- 
where struck  me  whilst  sojourning  amongst  the  rocks 
made  me  hail  the  earth  as  a  land  of  promise  ;  and  the 


LIFE    IN    NORWAY  175 

situation  shone  with  fresh  lustre  from  the  contrast — 
from  appearing  to  be  a  free  abode.  Here  it  was  possible 
to  travel  by  land — I  never  thought  this  a  comfort 
before,  and  my  eyes,  fatigued  by  the  sparkling  of  the 
sun  on  the  water,  now  contentedly  reposed  on  the 
green  expanse,  half-persuaded  that  such  verdant  mead 
had  never  till  then  regaled  them. 

I  rose  early  to  pursue  my  journey  to  Tonsberg. 
The  country  still  wore  a  face  of  joy — and  my  soul 
was  alive  to  its  charms.  Leaving  the  most  lofty  and 
romantic  of  the  cliffs  behind  us,  we  were  almost 
continually  descending  to  Tonsberg,  through  Elysian 
scenes  ;  for  not  only  the  sea,  but  mountains,  rivers, 
lakes,  and  groves,  gave  an  almost  endless  variety  to 
the  prospect.  The  cottagers  were  still  carrying  home 
the  hay  ;  and  the  cottages  on  this  road  looked  very 
comfortable.  Peace  and  plenty — I  mean  not  abundance 
— seemed  to  reign  around ;  still  I  grew  sad  as  I  drew 
near  my  old  abode.  I  was  sorry  to  see  the  sun  so 
high  ;  it  was  broad  noon.  Tonsberg  was  something 
like  a  home,  yet  I  was  to  enter  without  lighting  up 
pleasure  in  any  eye.  I  dreaded  the  solitariness  of  my 
apartment,  and  wished  for  night  to  hide  the  starting 
tears,  or  to  shed  them  on  my  pillow,  and  close  my 
eyes  on  a  world  where  I  was  destined  to  wander  alone. 
Why  has  nature  so  many  charms  for  me — calling  forth 
and  cherishing  refined  sentiments,  only  to  wound  the 
breast  that  fosters  them  ?  How  illusive,  perhaps  the 
most  so,  are  the  plans  of  happiness  founded  on  virtue 
and  principle  ;  what  inlets  of  misery  do  they  not  open 
in  a  half-civilised  society  ?  The  satisfaction  arising 
from  conscious  rectitude  will  not  calm  an  injured 
heart,  when  tenderness  is  ever  finding  excuses  ;  and 


i;6  MARY   WOLLSTONECRAFT 

self -applause  is  a  cold,  solitary  feeling,  that  cannot 
supply  the  place  of  disappointed  affection,  without 
throwing  a  gloom  over  every  prospect,  which,  banishing 
pleasure,  does  not  preclude  pain.  I  reasoned  and 
reasoned  ;  but  my  heart  was  too  full  to  allow  me  to 
remain  in  the  house,  and  I  walked,  till  I  was  wearied 
out,  to  purchase  rest — or  rather  forgetfulness. 

Employment  has  beguiled  this  day,  and  to-morrow  I 
set  out  for  Moss,  in  my  way  to  Stromstad.  At  Gothen- 
burg I  shall  embrace  my  Pannikin  ; l  probably  she  will 
not  know  me  again — and  I  shall  be  hurt  if  she  do  not. 
How  childish  is  this  !  still  it  is  a  natural  feeling.  I 
would  not  permit  myself  to  indulge  the  "  thick-coming 
tears  "  of  fondness  whilst  I  was  detained  by  business. 
Yet  I  never  saw  a  calf  bounding  in  a  meadow  that 
did  not  remind  me  of  my  little  frolicker.  A  calf  ?  you 
say.  Yes  ;  but  a  capital  one,  I  own. 

I  cannot  write  composedly — I  am  every  instant 
sinking  into  reveries — my  heart  flutters,  I  know  not 
why.  Fool  !  It  is  time  thou  wert  at  rest. 

Friendship  and  domestic  happiness  are  continually 
praised  ;  yet  how  little  is  there  of  either  in  the  world, 
because  it  requires  more  cultivation  of  mind  to  keep 
awake  affection,  even  in  our  own  hearts,  than  the 
common  run  of  people  suppose.  Besides,  few  like  to 
be  seen  as  they  really  are  ;  and  a  degree  of  simplicity, 
and  of  undisguised  confidence,  which  to  uninterested 
observers  would  almost  border  on  weakness,  is  the 
charm,  nay,  the  essence  of  love  or  friendship  :  all  the 
bewitching  graces  of  childhood  again  appearing.  As 
objects  merely  to  exercise  my  taste,  I  therefore  like 
to  see  people  together  who  have  an  affection  for  each 
1  Her  little  girl  Fanny. 


[FRIENDSHIP  177 

other ;  every  turn  of  their  features  touches  me,  and 
remains  pictured  on  my  imagination  in  indelible  char- 
acters. The  zest  of  novelty  is,  however,  necessary  to 
rouse  the  languid  sympathies  which  have  been  hackneyed 
in  the  world  ;  as  is  the  factitious  behaviour,  falsely 
termed  good-breeding,  to  amuse  those  who,  defective 
in  taste,  continually  rely  for  pleasure  on  their  animal 
spirits,  which,  not  being  maintained  by  the  imagination, 
are  unavoidably  sooner  exhausted  than  the  sentiments 
of  the  heart.  Friendship  is  in  general  sincere  at  the 
commencement,  and  lasts  whilst  there  is  anything  to 
support  it ;  but  as  a  mixture  of  novelty  and  vanity 
is  the  usual  prop,  no  wonder  if  it  fall  with  the  slender 
stay.  The  fop  in  the  play  payed  a  greater  compliment 
than  he  was  aware  of  when  he  said  to  a  person  whom 
he  meant  to  flatter,  "  I  like  you  almost  as  well  as  a 
new  "  acquaintance."  Why  am  I  talking  of  friendship, 
after  which  I  have  had  such  a  wild-goose  chase  ?  I 
thought  only  of  telling  you  that  the  crows,  as  well  as 
wild  geese,  are  here  birds  of  passage. 


SARAH  SIDDONS   (1755  1831) 

THE  eldest  child  of  an  actor,  Roger  Kemble  ;  she  married 
William  Siddons,  also  an  actor.  Her  first  appearance  at 
Drury  Lane  was  at  the  invitation  of  David  Garrick,  but  being 
unsuccessful,  she  returned  to  the  provinces,  where  she 
remained  for  some  years.  Later  she  became  the  fore- 
most actress  of  the  day — tragedy  being  her  forte.  Nature 
endowed  her  with  beauty  as  well  as  genius  and  a  voice 
of  great  power  and  sympathy.  At  her  death  a  statue,  the 
first  erected  to  a  woman  in  London  (other  than  royalty), 
was  set  up  in  Paddington  Churchyard. 

12 


178  SARAH    SIDDONS 

To  John  Taylor 

ON    HIS    OFFER   TO   BE    HER   BIOGRAPHER 

NEWNHAM  RECTORY,  August  5,  1793. 

Indeed,  my  dear  friend,  if  you  were  to  write  my 
praises  with  the  pen  of  men  and  angels,  I  should  shrink 
from  that  celebrity  which  the  partiality  of  so  kind  a 
biographer  would  confer ;  for  how  could  I  read  without 
blushes  those  accounts  of  myself,  which  would  be 
measures  of  his  friendship,  not  standards  of  my  worthi- 
ness ?  I  am  content  that  you  should  deceive  yourself 
about  my  talents  and  my  character,  because  I  have  an 
interest,  and  perhaps  a  livelier  interest  than  most  people, 
I  believe,  imagine,  for  the  opinion  of  those  who  give 
themselves  the  trouble  to  think  of  me  at  all.  But  my 
friends  in  general  are  very  much  mistaken  in  my 
character.  It  has  pleased  God  to  place  me  in  a  situation 
of  great  publicity,  but  my  natural  disposition  inclines  me 
to  privacy  and  retirement ;  and,  though  the  applause 
that  is  the  Palm  of  Art  is  necessarily  sweet  to  my  sense, 
yet  sweeter  is  the  still  small  voice  of  tender  relatives 
and  estimable  friends.  You  may  therefore  tell  me  as 
much  as  you  please  of  those  talents  with  which  you  say 
I  am  so  miraculously  gifted,  and  I  will  hear  you  with 
pleasure,  and  pray  for  continuance  of  your  illusion. 
But  do  not — /  conjure  you,  at  least  till  opinion  has  a 
little  more  sanctioned  the  idea — do  not  bid  all  the  world 
gaze,  and  wonder,  and  certainly  laugh  at  my  yet  feeble 
efforts. 

I  am  very  much  obliged  to  Mrs.  Robinson  for  her  polite 
attention  in  sending  me  her  poems.  Pray  tell  her  so 
with  my  compliments.  I  hope  the  poor,  charming 
woman  has  quite  recovered  from  her  fall.  If  she  is  half 


PERDITA'S    POEMS  179 

as  amiable  as  her  writings,  I  shall  long  for  the  possibility 
of  being  acquainted  with  her.  I  say  the  possibility, 
because  one's  whole  life  is  one  continued  sacrifice  of 
inclinations,  which,  to  indulge,  however  laudable  or 
innocent,  would  draw  down  the  malice  and  reproach  of 
those  prudent  people  who  never  do  ill,  "  but  feed,  and 
sleep,  and  do  observances,  to  the  stale  ritual  of  quaint 
ceremony."  The  charming  and  beautiful  Mrs.  Robinson  ! 
I  pity  her  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul  !  *\ 

Pray  go  and  take  Betsy  to  Marlborough  Street,  to  see 
my  bust  of  my  little  son  George.  I  could  have  done 
it  better,  but  for  the  extreme  heat  of  the  weather,  which 
made  the  clay  crack  and  dry  too  fast.  Adieu. 

Your  affec.  friend, 

S.  SIDDONS. 


Mrs.  Siddons  to  Mrs.  Fitzhugh 

READINGS    AT    WINDSOR    CASTLE 

WESTBOURNE,  January  26,  1813. 

I  have  been  these  three  days  meditating  about  writing 
you  an  account  of  my  Windsor  visit,  which  you  have, 
no  doubt,  seen  mentioned  in  the  newspapers  ;  but, 
whether  occasioned  by  the  fatigue  of  that  visit,  or  from 
an  habitual  tendency,  my  head  has  been  more  heavy 
and  painful  since  my  return  home  than  it  has  been  for 
many  months  ;  but  though  very  far  from  well  at  present, 
I  cannot  resist  the  pleasure  of  telling  you  myself  what  I 
know  you  will  be  gratified  to  hear. — Take  it  thus  and 
verbatim. 

On  the  1 8th  (I  think  it  was)  I  was  in  the  middle  of 
dressing  to  go  and  dine  with  Mrs.  Darner,  when  an 


1 80  SARAH    SIDDONS 

especial  messenger  arrived  in  the  dusk,  with  a  letter 
from  my  old  friend  the  Dowager  Lady  Stewart,  to  tell 
me  that  the  Queen  had  ordered  her  to  write  and   say 
"  that  her  Majesty  wished  very  much  to  hear  me  read, 
and  desired  to  have  an  answer  returned  immediately 
to  Carlton  House,  where  the  party  from  Windsor  dined 
that  day,"  which  was  Wednesday.     I  of  course  wrote 
that  I  should  be  happy  to  have  the  honour  of  obeying 
the  Queen's  commands,  and  therefore  left  my  own  house 
on  Friday,  according  to  appointment,  and  went  to  Frog- 
more,  where  I  was  informed  that  everything  would  be 
prepared  for  my  arrival.     I  got  there  about  three,  and 
was  conducted  into  a  very  elegant  drawing-room,  where 
I  sat  till  it  was  time  to  go  to  the  Castle  and  consult  with 
Lady  Stewart  respecting   the  reading.     I  spent  about 
an  hour  very  agreeably  in  her  apartment  with  herself 
and  Princess  Elizabeth,  who  appears  the  best  natured 
person  in  the  world.     We  concluded  for  some  part  of 
Henry    VIII.,    some   part  of  The  Merchant  of    Venice, 
and  to   finish  with    some  scenes  from  Hamlet.     After 
this  I  dined  with  Madame  Bechendoft,  her  Majesty's 
confidential   gentlewoman.     When   Lady   Harcourt  re- 
turned, after  dining  with  the  Queen,  I  again  went  to 
her  apartment,  where  Princess  Elizabeth  renewed  her 
visit,  and  staid  and  chatted  very  charmingly,  of  course, 
becaiise  her  conversation  was  chiefly  about  the  pleasure 
they  had  all  formerly  received  from  my  exertions,  and 
the    delight    of    hearing    me    again.     We    then    parted 
for  the  night,  the  ladies  to  the  Queen's  card-party,  and  I 
to  Frogmore,  where  the  steward  and  housekeeper  came 
to  me  to  say  that  her  Majesty  and  the  Princess  had  been 
there  in  the  morning,  and  had  left  a  message,  to  desire 
that  I  would  consider  myself  as  in  my  own  house,  with 


READINGS    AT    WINDSOR    CASTLE      181 

repeated  injunctions  to  make  my  residence  there  as 
agreeable  as  possible.  The  next  day  the  whole  Royal 
party  from  Windsor,  with  Princess  Charlotte  and  the 
Dukes  of  Cambridge  and  Clarence,  dined  at  Frogmore. 
Many  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  were  invited  to  the  read- 
ing ;  and  at  about  half-past  eight  I  entered  the  room  where 
they  were  all  assembled.  The  Queen,  the  Princesses,  and 
the  Duchess  of  York,  all  came  to  me,  and  conversed 
most  graciously,  till  the  Queen  took  her  place.  Then 
the  company  seated  themselves,  and  I  began.  It  all  went 
off  to  my  heart's  content,  for  the  room  was  the  finest 
place  for  the  voice  in  the  world.  I  retired  sometimes, 
at  her  Majesty's  request,  to  rest ;  and  when  it  was  over 
I  had  the  extreme  satisfaction  to  find  that  they  had  all 
been  extremely  delighted.  Lady  Stewart  wrote  to  me 
yesterday  that  I  am  still  the  inexhaustible  fund  of  con- 
versation and  eulogium.  When  the  Queen  retired, 
after  the  reading,  Lady  Stewart  brought  to  me  a 
magnificent  gold  chain,  with  a  cross  of  many  coloured 
jewels,  from  her  Majesty,  and  hung  it  round  my  neck 
before  all  the  company.  This  was  a  great  surprise, 
and  you  may  imagine  how  so  great  an  honour  affected 
me.  You  may  conceive,  too,  the  pleasure  it  gave  me 
to  be  able  to  divert  a  few  of  those  mournfully  monotonous 
hours  which  these  amiable  sufferers,  from  the  singularly 
afflicting  nature  of  their  misfortune,  are  doomed  to 
undergo.  I  found  that  the  Queen  had  been  desirous 
that  I  should  not  return  the  next  day,  but  stay  and  read 
again  to  her  at  the  Castle  next  night,  which  I  was  too 
happy  to  do.  This  reading  consisted  of  passages  from 
"  Paradise  Lost,"  "  Gray's  Elegy,"  and  "  Marmion." 
When  I  went  into  the  room  I  found  her  Majesty,  with 
all  the  Princesses,  and  the  Princess  Charlotte,  seated, 


1 82  SARAH    SIDDONS 

and  a  table  and  chair  prepared  for  me,  which  she  (most 
graciously  saying  she  was  sure  I  must  still  feel  fatigued 
from  the  last  night's  exertion)  ordered  me  to  seat  myself 
in,  when  I  thanked  her  for  the  magnificent  favour  I  had 
received,  and  hoped  the  reading  of  the  preceding  night 
had  not  fatigued  her  Majesty,  for  she  really  had  a  terrible 
cough  and  cold.  She  hoped  that  the  keepsake  would 
remind  me  of  Frogmore,  and  said  "  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  be  fatigued  when  she  was  so  extremely 
delighted."  I  then  took  my  leave,  intending  to  return 
home  the  next  day,  which  was  Monday,  but,  having 
long  meditated  a  short  visit  to  Lord  and  Lady  Harcourt, 
who  live  at  St.  Leonard's  Hill,  about  four  miles  from 
Frogmore,  I  called  there,  and  Lady  Harcourt  persuaded 
me  to  remain  with  her,  and  was  so  good  as  to  make  me 
send  for  Cecilia  and  Miss  Wilkinson.  While  I  was  there 
I  received  another  command  from  her  Majesty  ;  and 
the  next  Sunday  evening  I  read  Othello  to  the  Royal 
party  at  the  Castle  ;  and  here  my  story  ends.  I  have 
much  to  say  if  I  had  eyes  and  head  ;  my  heart,  however, 
is  still  strong,  and  I  am,  with  undiminished  affection, 

Yours, 

S.  S. 


MARIA   EDGEWORTH   (1767-1849) 

A  DAUGHTER  of  Richard  Lovell  Edgeworth,  a  member  of  an 
old  Irish  family  settled  at  Edgeworthstown,  co.  Longford. 
Miss  Edgeworth  began  to  write  at  an  early  age,  and  in  all 
published  over  twenty  volumes.  She  was  devoted  to  her 
father,  who  greatly  assisted  her  in  her  literary  work.  During 
her  lifetime  she  enjoyed  a  great  reputation,  being  feted  in 
London  and  Paris.  In  her  old  age  she  learned  Spanish  and 


MR.    EDGEWORTH'S    FOURTH    WIFE      183 

delighted  in  reading  history.  Miss  Edgeworth  wrote  a  very 
popular  series  of  stories  for  children  and  some  novels,  of 
which  "Castle  Rackrent,"  "The  Absentee,"  and  "  Ormond  " 
are  still  remembered. 


To  Miss  Beaufort l 

A   LETTER   OF   CONGRATULATION 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN,  May  16,  1798. 

Whilst  you,  my  dear  Miss  Beaufort,  have  been  toiling 
in  Dublin,  my  father  has  been  delighting  himself  in 
preparations  for  June.  The  little  boudoir  looks  as  if 
it  intends  to  be  pretty.  This  is  the  only  room  in  the 
house  which  my  father  will  allow  to  be  finished,  as  he 
wishes  that  your  taste  should  finish  the  rest.  Like  the 
man  who  begged  to  have  the  eclipse  put  off,  we  have 
been  here  praying  to  have  the  spring  put  off,  as  this 
place  never  looks  so  pretty  as  when  the  lilacs  and 
laburnums  are  in  full  flower.  I  fear,  notwithstanding 
all  our  prayers,  that  their  purple  and  yellow  honours 
will  be  gone  before  your  arrival.  There  is  one  other 
flower  which  I  am  sure  will  not  be  in  blow  for  you,  "  a 
little  western  flower  called  love  in  idleness."  Amongst 
the  many  kindnesses  my  father  has  shown  me,  the 
greatest,  I  think,  has  been  his  permitting  me  to  see  his 
heart  a  decouverte  ;  and  I  have  seen,  by  your  kind 
sincerity  and  his,  that  in  good  and  cultivated  minds 
love  is  no  idle  passion,  but  one  that  inspires  useful  and 

i  Written  on  the  occasion  of  her  father's  fourth  marriage.  This, 
and  the  following  letters  of  Maria  Edgeworth,  are  printed  by  the 
kind  permission  of  Mrs.  Butler,  Mr.  A.  E.  Edgeworth,  and  Pro- 
fessor Edgeworth,  the  only  surviving  niece  and  nephews  of  Miss 
Edgeworth. 


1 84  MARIA    EDGEWORTH 

generous  energy.  I  have  been  convinced  by  your 
example  of  what  I  was  always  inclined  to  believe,  that 
the  power  of  feeling  affection  is  increased  by  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  understanding.  The  wife  of  our  Indian 
yogii  (if  a  yogii  be  permitted  to  have  a  wife)  might  be 
a  very  affectionate  woman,  but  her  sympathy  with  her 
husband  could  not  have  a  very  extensive  sphere.  As 
his  eyes  are  to  be  continually  fixed  upon  the  point  of  his 
nose,  hers,  in  duteous  sympathy,  must  squint  in  like 
manner  ;  and  if  the  perfection  of  his  virtue  be  to  sit  so 
still  that  the  birds  (vide  Sacontala)  may  unmolested 
build  nests  in  his  hair,  his  wife  cannot  better  show  her 
affection  than  by  yielding  her  tresses  to  them  with 
similar  patient  stupidity.  Are  there  not  European 
yogiis,  or  men  whose  ideas  do  not  go  much  further  than 
le  bout  du  nez  ?  And  how  delightful  it  must  be  to  be 
chained  for  better  for  worse  to  one  of  this  species  !  I 
should  guess — for  I  know  nothing  of  the  matter — that 
the  courtship  of  an  ignorant  lover  must  be  almost  as 
insipid  as  a  marriage  with  him  ;  for  "  my  jewel J)  con- 
tinually repeated,  without  new  setting,  must  surely 
fatigue  a  little. 

You  call  yourself,  dear  Miss  Beaufort,  my  friend  and 
companion  :  I  hope  you  will  never  have  reason  to  repent 
beginning  in  this  style  towards  me.  I  think  you  will 
not  find  me  encroach  upon  you.  The  overflowings  of 
your  kindness,  if  I  know  anything  of  my  own  heart, 
will  fertilise  the  land,  but  will  not  destroy  the  landmarks. 
I  do  not  know  whether  I  most  hate  or  despise  the  temper 
which  will  take  an  ell  where  an  inch  is  given.  A  well- 
bred  person  never  forgets  that  species  of  respect  which 
is  due  to  situation  and  rank.  Though  his  superiors  in 
rank  treat  him  with  the  utmost  condescension,  he  never 


A    SYMPATHETIC    STEP-DAUGHTER       185 

is  "  Hail  fellow  well  met  "  with  them  :  he  never  calls 
them  Jack  or  Tom  by  way  of  increasing  his  own  con- 
sequence. 

I  flatter  myself  that  you  will  find  me  gratefully  exact, 
en  belle  ftlle.  I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  of  difference 
between  that  species  of  ceremony  which  exists  with 
acquaintance,  and  that  which  should  always  exist  with 
the  best  of  friends  :  the  one  prevents  the  growth  of 
affection,  the  other  preserves  it  in  youth  and  age.  Many 
foolish  people  make  fine  plantations,  and  forget  to  fence 
them  ;  so  the  young  trees  are  destroyed  by  the  young 
cattle,  and  the  bark  of  the  forest  trees  is  sometimes 
injured.  You  need  not,  dear  Miss  Beaufort,  fence  your- 
self round  with  very  strong  palings  in  this  family,  where 
all  have  been  early  accustomed  to  mind  their  boundaries. 
As  for  me,  you  see  my  intentions,  or  at  least  my  theories, 
are  good  enough  ;  if  my  practice  be  but  half  as  good, 
you  will  be  content,  will  you  not  ?  But  Theory  was 
born  in  Brobdingnag,  and  Practice  in  Lilliput.  So 
much  the  better  for  me.  I  have  often  considered,  since 
my  return  home,  as  I  have  seen  all  this  family  pursuing 
their  several  occupations  and  amusements,  how  much 
you  will  have  it  in  your  power  to  add  to  their  happiness. 
In  a  stupid  or  indolent  family  your  knowledge  and 
talents  would  be  thrown  away  ;  here,  if  it  may  be  said 
without  vanity,  they  will  be  the  certain  source  of  your 
daily  happiness.  You  will  come  into  a  new  family,  but 
you  will  not  come  as  a  stranger,  dear  Miss  Beaufort ; 
you  will  not  lead  a  new  life,  but  only  continue  to  lead 
the  life  you  have  been  used  to  in  your  own  happy, 
cultivated  family. 


1 86  MARIA    EDGEWORTH 

Maria  Edgeworth  to  Mrs.  Mary  Sneyd 

PARIS,  January  10,  1803. 

Siecle  reparateur,  as  Monge  has  christened  this  century. 
CELEBRITIES   AT   PARIS 

MY  DEAR  AUNT  MARY, — I  will  give  you  a  journal  of 
yesterday.  I  know  you  love  journals.  Got  up  and  put 
on  our  shoes  and  stockings  and  cambric  muslin  gowns, 
which  are  in  high  esteem  here,  fur-tippets,  and  fur-clogs, 
— God  bless  Aunt  Mary  and  Aunt  Charlotte  for  them — 
and  were  in  coach  by  nine  o'clock ;  drove  to  the  excellent 
Abbe  Morellet's,  where  we  were  invited  to  breakfast  to 
meet  Madame  d'Ouditot,  the  lady  who  inspired  Rousseau 
with  the  idea  of  Julie.  Julie  is  now  seventy-two  years 
of  age,  a  thin  woman  in  a  little  black  bonnet :  she 
appeared  to  me  shockingly  ugly  ;  she  squints  so  much 
that  it  is  impossible  to  tell  which  way  she  is  looking  ; 
but  no  sooner  did  I  hear  her  speak  than  I  began  to  like 
her,  and  no  sooner  was  I  seated  beside  her  than  I 
began  to  find  in  her  countenance  a  most  benevolent  and 
agreeable  expression.  She  entered  into  conversation 
immediately  :  her  manner  invited  and  could  not  fail  to 
obtain  confidence.  She  seems  as  gay  and  open-hearted 
as  a  girl  of  fifteen.  It  has  been  said  of  her  that  she 
not  only  never  did  any  harm,  but  never  suspected  any 
She  is  possessed  of  that  art  which  Lord  Kames  said  he 
would  prefer  to  the  finest  gift  from  the  queen  of  the 
fairies — the  art  of  seizing  the  best  side  of  every  object. 
She  has  had  great  misfortunes,  but  she  has  still  retained 
the  power  of  making  herself  and  her  friends  happy. 

Even  during  the  horrors  of  the  Revolution,  if  she 
met  with  a  flower,  a  butterfly,  an  agreeable  smell,  a 


ROUSSEAU  187 

pretty  colour,  she  would  turn  her  attention  to  these, 
and  for  the  moment  suspend  her  sense  of  misery,  not 
from  frivolity,  but  from  real  philosophy.  No  one  has 
exerted  themselves  with  more  energy  in  the  service  of 
her  friends.  I  felt  in  her  company  the  delightful 
influence  of  a  cheerful  temper,  and  soft,  attractive 
manners — enthusiasm  which  age  cannot  extinguish, 
and  which  spends,  but  does  not  waste  itself  on  small 
but  not  trifling  objects.  I  wish  I  could  at  seventy-two 
be  such  a  woman  !  She  told  me  that  Rousseau,  whilst 
he  was  writing  so  finely  on  education,  and  leaving  his 
own  children  in  the  Foundling  Hospital,  defended 
himself  with  so  much  eloquence  that  even  those  who 
blamed  him  in  their  hearts  could  not  find  tongues  to 
answer  him.  Once  at  dinner  at  Madame  d'Ouditot's, 
there  was  a  fine  pyramid  of  fruit.  Rousseau,  in  helping 
himself,  took  the  peach  which  formed  the  base  of  the 
pyramid,  and  the  rest  fell  immediately.  "  Rousseau/' 
said  she,  "  that  is  what  you  always  do  with  all  our 
systems  :  you  pull  down  with  a  single  touch ;  but  who 
will  build  up  what  you  pull  down  ?  "  I  asked  if  he 
was  grateful  for  all  the  kindness  shown  to  him.  "  No/1 
he  was  ungrateful  ;  he  had  a  thousand  bad  qualities, 
but  I  turned  my  attention  from  them  to  his  genius 
and  the  good  he  had  done  mankind. 

After  our  excellent  breakfast,  including  tea,  chocolate, 
coffee,  buttered  and  unbuttered  cakes,  good  conversa- 
tion, and  good  humour,  came  M.  Cheron,  husband  of 
the  Abbe  Morellet's  niece,  who  is  translating  "  Early 
Lessons,"  l  French  on  one  side  and  English  on  the  other. 
Didot  has  undertaken  to  publish  the  "  Rational  Primer/' 

1  "Early  Lessons"  and  the  "Rational  Primer"  are  two  of 
Miss  Edgeworth's  books. 


1 88  MARIA    EDGEWORTH 

which  is  much  approved  of  here  for  teaching  the  true 
English  pronunciation. 

Then  we  went  to  a  lecture  on  Shorthand,  or  Passi- 
graphy,  and  there  we  met  Mr.  Chenevix,  who  came 
home  to  dine  with  us,  and  stayed  till  nine,  talking  of 
Montgolfier's  belier  for  throwing  water  to  a  great  height. 
We  have  seen  it  and  its  inventor  :  something  like  Mr. 
Watt  in  manner,  not  equal  to  him  in  genius.  He  had 
received  from  M.  de  la  Poype  a  letter  my  father  wrote 
some  years  ago,  about  the  method  of  guiding  balloons, 
and  as  far  as  he  could  judge,  he  thought  it  might  succeed. 

We  went,  with  Madame  Recamier  and  the  Russian 
Princess  Dalgowski,  to  La  Harpe's  house,  to  hear  him 
repeat  some  of  his  own  verses.  He  lives  in  a  wretched 
house,  and  we  went  up  dirty  stairs,  through  dirty 
passages,  where  I  wondered  how  fine  ladies'  trains  and 
noses  could  go,  and  were  received  in  a  dark,  small  den 
by  the  philosopher,  or  rather  devot,  for  he  spurns  the 
name  of  philosopher.  He  was  in  a  dirty  reddish  night- 
gown, and  very  dirty  nightcap  bound  round  the  fore- 
head with  a  superlatively  dirty  chocolate-coloured 
ribbon.  Madame  Recamier,  the  beautiful,  the  elegant, 
robed  in  white  satin,  trimmed  with  white  fur,  seated 
herself  on  the  elbow  of  his  armchair,  and  besought  him 
to  repeat  his  verses.  Charlotte  has  drawn  a  picture 
of  this  scene.  We  met  at  La  Harpe's,  Lady  Elizabeth 
Chester  and  Lady  Bessborough  :  very  engaging  manners. 

We  were  a  few  days  ago  at  a  bal  d'enfants  ;  this 
you  would  translate  a  children's  ball,  and  so  did  we, 
till  we  were  set  right  by  the  learned — not  a  single 
child  was  at  this  ball,  and  only  half  a  dozen  unmarried 
ladies  :  it  is  a  ball  given  by  mothers  to  their  grown-up 
children.  Charlotte  appeared  as  usual  to  great  ad  van- 


THE    POET'S    DEN  189 

tage,  and  was  much  admired  for  her  ease  and  unaffected 
manners.  She  danced  one  English  country  dance 
with  M.  de  Crillon,  son  of  the  Gibraltar  Duke  :  when 
she  stood  up,  a  gentleman  came  to  me  and  exclaimed, 
"  Ah,  Mademoiselle,  votre  sceur  va  danser,  nous  attendons 
le  moment  ou  elle  va  paraitre."  She  appeared  extremely 
well  from  not  being  anxious  to  appear  at  all.  To-day 
we  stayed  at  home  to  gain  time  for  letters,  etc.,  but 
thirteen  visitors,  besides  the  washerwoman,  prevented 
our  accomplishing  all  our  great  and  good  purposes. 
The  visitors  were  all,  except  the  washerwoman,  so 
agreeable,  that  even  while  they  interrupted  us  we  did 
not  know  how  to  wish  them  gone. 


Maria  Edgeworth  to  Lucy  Edgeworth 

THE   BAILLIES'    CAT 

Miss  BAILLIE'S,  HAMPSTEAD,  January  12,  1822. 
I  have  been  four  days  resolving  to  get  up  half  an  hour 
earlier  that  I  might  have  time  to  tell  you,  my  dear 
Lucy,  the  history  of  a  cat  of  Joanna  and  Agnes  Baillie's. 
You  may,  perhaps,  have  heard  the  name  of  a  cele- 
brated Mr.  Brodie,  who  wrote  on  Poisons,  and  whose 
papers  on  this  subject  are  to  be  found  in  the  Trans- 
actions of  the  Royal  Society,  and  reviewed  in  the  Edinburgh 
Review   in    1811.     He   brought   some   of   the   Woorara 
poison,  with  which  the  natives  poison  their  arrows  and 
destroy    their    victims.     It   was    his    theory   that   this 
poison  destroys  by  affecting  the  nervous  system  only, 
and  that  after  a  certain  time  its  effects  on  the  nerves 
would    cease,    as    the    eifects    of    intoxicating    liquors 
cease,  and  that  the  patient  might  recover,  if  the  lungs 


ipo  MARIA    EDGEWORTH 

could  be  kept  in  play,  if  respiration  were  not  suspended 
during  the  trance  or  partial  death  in  which  the  patient 
lies.  To  prove  the  truth  of  this  by  experiment,  he 
fell  to  work  on  a  cat ;  he  pricked  the  cat  with  the 
point  of  a  lance  dipped  in  Woorara.  It  was  some 
minutes  before  the  animal  became  convulsed,  and 
then  it  lay,  to  all  appearance,  dead.  Mr.  Brodie  applied 
a  tube  to  its  mouth,  and  blew  air  into  it  from  time 
to  time.  After  lying  some  hours  apparently  lifeless, 
it  recovered,  shook  itself,  and  went  about  its  own 
affairs  as  usual.  This  was  tried  several  times,  much 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  philosophical  spectators, 
but  not  quite  to  the  satisfaction  of  poor  Puss,  who 
grew  very  thin,  and  looked  so  wretched  that  Dr.  Baillie's 
son,  then  a  boy,  took  compassion  on  this  poor  subject 
of  experiment,  and  begged  Mr.  Brodie  would  let  him 
carry  off  the  cat.  With  or  without  consent,  he  did 
carry  her  off,  and  brought  her  to  his  aunts,  Joanna  and 
Agnes  Baillie.  Then  puss's  prosperous  days  began. 
Agnes  made  a  soft  bed  for  her  in  her  own  room,  and 
by  night  and  day  she  was  the  happiest  of  cats  ;  she 
was  called  Woorara,  which  in  time  shortened  into 
Woory.  I  wish  I  could  wind  up  Woory's  history  by 
assuring  you  that  she  was  the  most  attached  and  grateful 
of  cats,  but  truth  forbids.  A  few  weeks  after  her 
arrival  at  Hampstead,  she  marched  off  and  never  was 
heard  of  more.  It  is  supposed  that  she  took  to  evil 
courses  ;  tasted  the  blood  and  bones  of  her  neighbour's 
chickens,  and  fell  at  last  a  sacrifice  to  the  vengeance 
of  a  cookmaid. 

After  this  cat's  departure  Agnes  took  to  heart  a 
kitten,  who  was  very  fond  of  her.  This  kitten,  the 
first  night  she  slept  in  her  room,  on  wakening  in  the 


MRS.    SIDDONS  191 

morning  looked  up  from  the  hearth  at  Agnes,  who  was 
lying  awake,  but  with  her  eyes  half-shut,  and  marked 
all  pussy's  motions  ;  after  looking  some  instants,  puss 
jumped  up  on  the  bed,  crept  softly  forward  and  put 
her  paw,  with  its  glove  on,  upon  one  of  Miss  Baillie's 
eyelids  and  pushed  it  gently  up.  Miss  Baillie  looked 
at  her  fixedly,  and  puss,  as  if  satisfied  that  her  eyes  were 
there  and  safe,  went  back  to  her  station  on  the  hearth 
and  never  troubled  herself  more  about  the  matter. 

To  finish  this  chapter  on  cats.  I  saw  yesterday  at 
a  lady's  house  at  Hampstead,  a  real  Persian  cat,  brought 
over  by  a  Navy  captain,  her  brother.  It  has  long 
hair  like  a  dog,  and  a  tail  like  a  terrier's,  only  with 
longer  hair.  It  is  the  most  gentle,  depressed-looking 
creature  I  ever  saw  ;  it  seems  to  have  the  mal  du  pays, 
and,  moreover,  had  the  cholic  the  morning  I  saw  it, 
and  Agnes  Baillie  had  a  spoonful  of  castor-oil  poured 
out  for  it,  but  it  ran  away.  .  .  . 


Maria  Edgeworth  to  Mrs.  Ruxton 

MRS.    SIDDONS'S    REMINISCENCES 

8,  HOLLES  STREET,   April  10,   1822. 

.  .  .  Through  Lydia  White  we  have  become  more 
acquainted  with  Mrs.  Siddons  than  I  ever  expected  to 
be.  She  gave  us  the  history  of  her  first  acting  of  Lady 
Macbeth,  and  of  her  resolving,  in  the  sleep  scene,  to 
lay  down  the  candlestick,  contrary  to  the  precedent 
of  Mrs.  Pritchard  and  all  the  traditions,  before  she 
began  to  wash  her  hands  and  say,  "  Out,  vile  spot !  " 
Sheridan  knocked  violently  at  her  door  during  the 
five  minutes  she  had  desired  to  have  entirely  to  herself, 


192  MARIA   EDGEWORTH 

to  compose  her  spirits  before  the  play  began.  He 
burst  in  and  prophesied  that  she  would  ruin  herself  for 
ever  if  she  persevered  in  this  resolution  to  lay  down  the 
candlestick.  She  persisted,  however,  in  her  deter- 
mination, succeeded,  was  applauded,  and  Sheridan 
begged  her  pardon.  She  described  well  the  awe  she 
felt,  and  the  power  of  the  excitement  given  to  her  by 
the  sight  of  Burke,  Fox,  Sheridan,  and  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  in  the  pit.  She  invited  us  to  a  private  reading- 
party  at  her  own  house  ;  present  only  her  daughter, 
a  very  pretty  young  lady,  a  Mrs.  Wilkinson,  Mr.  Burney, 
Dr.  Holland,  Lydia  White,  Mr.  Harness  and  ourselves. 
She  read  one  of  her  finest  parts,  and  that  best  suited 
to  a  private  room — Queen  Katherine.  She  was  dressed 
so  as  to  do  well  for  the  two  parts  she  was  to  perform 
this  night — of  gentlewoman  and  queen — black  velvet, 
with  black-velvet  cap  and  feathers.  She  sat  the  whole 
time,  and  with  a  large  Shakespeare  before  her  ;  as  she 
knew  the  part  of  Katherine  by  heart,  she  seldom  re- 
quired the  help  of  glasses,  and  she  recited  it  incom- 
parably well :  the  changes  of  her  countenance  were 
striking.  From  her  first  burst  of  indignation  when  she 
objects  to  the  Cardinal  as  her  judge,  to  her  last  expiring 
scene,  was  all  so  perfectly  natural  and  so  touching,  we 
could  give  no  applause  but  tears.  Mrs.  Siddons  is 
beautiful  even  at  this  moment.  Some  who  had  seen 
her  on  the  stage  in  this  part,  assured  me  that  it  had 
a  much  greater  effect  upon  them  in  a  private  room, 
because  they  were  near  enough  to  see  the  changes  of 
her  countenance,  and  to  hear  the  pathos  of  her  half- 
suppressed  voice.  Some  one  said  that  in  the  dying 
scene  her  very  pillow  seemed  sick. 

She  spoke  afterwards   of  the  different  parts  which 


WILLIAM    COWPER  193 

she  had  liked  and  disliked  to  act ;  and  when  she  men- 
tioned the  characters  and  scenes  she  had  found  easy 
or  difficult,  it  was  curious  to  observe  that  the  feelings 
of  the  actress  and  the  sentiments  and  reasons  of  the 
best  critics  meet.  Whatever  was  not  natural,  or 
inconsistent  with  the  main  part  of  the  character,  she 
found  she  never  could  act  well.  .  .  , 


HARRIET,   LADY  HESKETH    (1733-1807) 

WAS  the  wife  of  Thomas  Hesketh,  who  was  created  a  baronet 
in  1761.  Lady  Hesketh  was  one  of  the  chief  correspondents 
and  friends  of  her  cousin,  William  Cowper,  the  poet. 


To  Rev.  John  Johnson  l 

WILLIAM    COWPER 

WESTON,  July  17,  1794. 

Though  this  cannot  go  till  to-morrow,  I  yet  cannot 
help  writing  this  evening  to  tell  you,  my  good  Johnny, 
how  truly  glad  I  am  to  think  that  in  the  space  of  a 
few  days  you  will  really  be  here  to  share  in  my  in- 
effectual  labours  for  the  good  of  our  unhappy  cousin. 2 
You  may  easily  believe  the  Task  sustained  by  me,  and 
me  alone  has  been  a  severe  one,  it  has,  indeed,  and 
tho'  I  confess  I  do  not  feel  it  with  the  same  acuteness 
that  I  did  during  the  first  three  months  (for  then,  I 
think,  I  must  have  dyed)  yet  'tis  certain  my  sufferings 

1  This,  and  the  three  following  letters  are  reprinted  from  the 
"  Letters  of  Lady  Hesketh  to  the  Rev.  John  Johnson,"  by  kind 
permission  of  the  Editor,  Mrs.  Catherine  Bodham  Johnson,  and  to 
Messrs.  Jarrold  &  Sons,  the  publishers. 

2  William  Cowper. 

13 


194  LADY    HESKETH 

have  not  been  small  who  have  sustained  the  weight  of 
this  affliction  alone  more  than  four  months  out  of  the 
seven  that  our  dear  Cousin  has  laboured  under  this 
cruel  calamity  !  but  you  will  come  certainly,  my  good 
Johnny,  and  I  shall  have  at  least  the  comfort  of  con- 
sulting you  and  hearing  your  opinion  on  many  things 
relative  to  this  unhappy  Man,  which  at  present  distress 
me  not  a  little.  I  wish,  too,  for  your  opinion  of  him, 
for  as  it  is  so  long  since  you  saw  him,  you  will  be  enabled 
better  to  judge  of  the  alteration  there  may  be  in  him 
than  I  can  do,  who  see  him  every  day.  That  you  will 
think  him  much  thinner  than  when  you  left  him  I 
conclude,  but  his  face  looks  better  than  it  did.  Indeed 
I  want  sadly  to  know  what  you  really  think  of  him  ? 
He  continues  dreadfully  low,  to  be  sure,  and  the  terrors 
of  being  carried  away  and  being  torn  in  pieces  seem 
to  agitate  him  as  much  as  ever ;  but  there  is  one  favour- 
able symptom  certainly,  that  is  that  he  evidently 
attends  to  me  when  I  read,  and  is  even  desirous  I  should , 
as  he  has  asked  me  more  than  once  if  I  expect  books 
from  Hookham,  and  he  never,  unless  he  could  help  it, 
leaves  the  room  when  I  am  reading.  This  is  doubtless 
an  alteration  for  the  better,  as  it  used  to  seem  to  hurt 
him  very  much,  and  I  really  left  it  off  for  some  time 
on  his  account,  as  he  would  sometimes  go  out  of  the 
room  quite  in  a  rage  !  a  thing  you'll  allow  very  un- 
common for  him,  and  is  a  great  comfort  this  change 
has  taken  place,  for  it  pleases  the  Enchantress  *  very 
much  to  be  read  to,  and  is  far  less  laborious  and  fatiguing 
to  me,  than  to  listen  to  those  Inexplicable  sounds  she 
makes,  poor  Soul  !  and  which  when  one  has  by  dint  of 
pains-taking  found  out  her  meaning  pays  one  so  ill  for 
i  Mrs.  Unwin. 


BENEFITS    FROM    CUPPING  195 

one's  trouble,  and  now  let  me  say  that  I  rejoice  from 
my  heart  (as  things  are  now  circumstanced)   that  you 
have   renounced   your   abominable   Curacy.     Could   we 
once  see  this  dear  Soul  restored   you  might  then  have 
ten  Curacies  instead  of  one,  but  indeed  at  present  that 
your  presence  is  so   necessary  at  Weston,  I  have  long 
lamented  your   being  hampered   with  it,  I  hope  there- 
fore you  mean   to  give  it   up  to  Mr.   Butcher  as  you 
said  you  would  write  to  him  and   I   wish  it  because 
I  know  by  so  doing  you  will  find  a  warm  friend  in  Mr. 
Hill  to  the  latest  hour  of  your  Existence  as  no  man  is 
more   sensible    of   favours  conferred    on    his    Friends. 
As  you  say  you  shall  pass  all  Wednesday  in  London  it 
is  a  great  Temptation  to  be  sure,  to  torment  you  with 
commissions,  but  I  do  not  think  I  know  anything  at 
this  moment  that  I  could  wish  to  distract  you  about 
except  to  desire  you  to  bring  me  a  small  bottle  of  Smyths 
Lavender  Water  in  case  you  go  through  Bond  Street, 
it  must  be  that  composed  by  James  Smyth  and  Sons, 
Perfumers  to  His  Majesty,   New  Bond  Street — as  the 
same  Mr.  Smyth  may  possibly  have  the  true  Eau-de- 
Cologne  you  may  bring   a  bottle  for  your  own  sake, 
who  I  know  will  be  very  sick  and  want  it — apropos 
of  being  sick  I  charge  you  not  to  see  my  face,  till  you 
have    been    cupp'd.     Mr.    Watkyns    at    the    Bagnioin 
Belton    Street  opposite   Browlow   St.    Long   Acre,    cupps 
extremely   well   and   will   not   detain   you   more   than 
Ten  minutes.     I  beg  therefore  you  will  have  it  done, 
for  you  will  find  your  thick  blood  marvellously  relieved 
by  it,  it  is  worth  all  the  leeches  in  the  Universe,  if 
you  were  to  be  Stuck  as  full  of  them  as  the  man  in  the 
Almanack  is  stuck  full  of  Darts  and  there  can  be  no 
shadow  of   an  objection — as  it  is  not  like  bleeding  and 


196  LADY    HESKETH 

if  it  does  you  no  good  you  are  morally  sure  it  cannot 
hurt  you.  Indeed  I  am  serious,  and  I  think  it  will  be 
very  necessary  ceremony  previous  to  your  making 
this  Interesting  visit,  especially  this  hot  weather,  and 
now  my  Sir  John  (for  I  observe  in  old  plays  many 
Clergymen  are  Baronets,  and  indeed  in  real  life  one 
meets  with  many)  I  will  detain  you  no  longer  either 
from  your  Church  dutys,  or  the  many  others  you  will 
have  to  perform  by  leave-taking,  etc.  :  I  wish  I  knew 
your  Uncle  and  Aunt  Bodham  that  I  might  thank  them 
for  allowing  you  to  come  where  indeed  you  are  so  much 
wanted  and  where  you  will  find  one  at  least  truly  glad 
to  see  you  in, 

Yours   sincerely, 

H.  H. 

Lady  Hesketh  to  the  Rev.  John  Johnson 

READING   TO    COWPER 

CHELTENHAM,  September  24,  1798. 

With  this  letter  my  good  Sir  John  I  shall  send  for 
the  use  of  your  fair  Sister  two  different  Muslins  which 
I  hope  she  will  approve  and  will  oblige  me  by  accepting 
as  a  very  small  proof  indeed  of  my  gratitude  for  her 
unrivalled  kindness  and  attention  to  our  Invaluable 
Friend.  Had  I  been  in  London  I  could  have  made 
more  choice  and  might  perhaps  have  found  something 
more  worthy  of  her  acceptance. 

I  can  only  say  that  those  I  have  sent  appeared  to  me 
good  of  their  kind — the  Cambrick  Muslin  I  believe 
has  no  fault  except  looking  tumbled  and  dirty  which 
I  was  vexed  at,  but  could  not  help,  and  I  preferred 
it  to  some  much  cleaner  to  look  at,  because  they  were 


CAMBRICK    MUSLIN  197 

at  the  same  time  coarser.  The  piece  I  have  sent  con- 
sists of  Ten  yards — yd.  and  half  wide — which  I  sincerely 
hope  may  make  it  useful  to  Mrs.  Hewitt.  There  are 
6  yds.  of  the  other  of  which  the  breadth  is  the  same, 
and  which  I  know  is  more  than  she  will  put  in  a  Gown. 
Pray  give  my  kind  Compts.  to  the  fair  lady  in  question 
and  tell  her  I  sincerely  wish  her  Health  to  wear  out 
many  such  muslins.  And  now  dear  Sir  John  having 
paid  my  Respects  to  your  good  Sister,  let  me  proceed 
to  thank  you  for  your  letter  and  for  the  cheering  hopes 
you  give  me  of  our  beloved  Cousin's  improved  health. 
I  am  anxiously  desirous  to  hope  on  this  Interesting 
Subject  and  yet  cannot  help  having  many  fears,  lest  the 
little  ray  of  Sunshine  we  thought  was  visible  some 
weeks  ago  may  have  been  obscured  !  in  general  I  have 
understood  from  those  who  have  before  seen  this  dear 
Creature  in  the  same  unhappy  way,  that  his  Recoverys 
are  generally  very  Rapid,  which  certainly  is  not  the 
case  at  present,  or  I  should  have  heard  from  him  again. 
I  will  however  try  the  effect  of  another  letter,  as  I  think 
a  few  lines  from  me  cannot  hurt  him,  even  if  they  do 
no  good,  and  the  wishes  he  so  kindly  expressed  of 
seeing  me  once  more  gave  me  I  own  great  hopes  that 
this  invaluable  Friend  and  Relation  was  likely  to  be 
once  more  himself  \  When  he  is,  I  well  know  how 
much  he  loves  and  is  attached  to  his  Friends,  and 
among  that  happy  number  I  am  vain  enough  to  think 
there  are  few  who  have  a  higher  place  in  his  esteem 
than  myself  !  but  alas  !  when  his  fine  understanding 
and  excellent  heart  are  sunk  and  obscured  in  the  Shades 
of  melancholy,  he  loves  nobody,  nor  will  he  be  per- 
suaded that  anybody  loves  him.  I  had  a  letter  a  few 
weeks  ago  from  Lady  Spencer  who  desires  me  to  make 


198  LADY    HESKETH 

her  grateful  acknowledgements  for  one  she  had  received 
from  you,  she  says  she  would  not  answer  it  herself, 
because  she  would  not  give  you  additional  trouble — 
and  this  was  I  daresay  one  reason — another  very  just 
one  might  relate  to  herself,  for  I  know  that  her  corre- 
spondencies are  so  very  numerous,  that  she  might 
employ  3  secretarys  without  any  one  of  them  running 
the  chance  of  an  idle  Hour.  Her  Ladyship  is  enchanted 
with  you  and  your  Sister,  and  seems  much  pleased 
with  your  Reception  of  her.  She  charged  me  to  tell 
you  that  she  shall  never  come  into  Norfolk  without 
calling  at  Dereham — she  expressed  some  apprehensions 
that  her  visit  might  have  been  ill-timed  in  respect  to 
our  dear  Cousin,  who  She  thought  was  distressed  by 
it.  I  am  not  however  of  her  Ladyship's  Opinion, 
for  his  Consenting  to  see  her  is  a  full  proof  that  it  gave 
him  no  pain — when  well  I  know  how  much  he  admires 
that  dear  Lady  and  what  pleasure  he  takes  in  her 
company  and  Conversation,  but  I  do  not  believe  by 
what  he  wrote  to  me  that  this  was  by  any  means  the 
case  at  that  time,  he  appeared  not  to  consider  her 
visit  as  directed  to  him  but  to  the  House,  and  the 
Room  where  he  sat,  which  he  said  she  seemed  to  approve 
very  much.  And  now  let  me  say  that  I  rejoice  you 
have  been  able  to  give  him  a  Specimen  of  his  own 
works  by  reading  them  over  to  him,  but  I  am  sorry 
your  voice  [broke  ?]  under  it  but  can  hardly  wonder, 
as  I  know  how  apt  you  are  to  be  hoarse,  and  a  Poem 
in  blank  Verse  is  a  great  Tryal.  You  ought  to  have 
had  a  large  collection  of  the  Patirosa  lozenges  at  your 
Elbow,  before  you  entered  upon  this  arduous  Task — if 
you  can't  easily  get  at  those  you  should  apply  very 
frequently  to  Sugar-Candy  and  Barley-Sugar  to  keep 


"JOHN    GILPIN"  199 

your  Throttle  moist  and  take  care  whatever  you  do  besides 
not  to  begin  under  yr.  voice.  I  know  you  are  apt 
when  you  read  to  begin  in  an  unnatural  under  Voice, 
which  is  more  trying  and  fatiguing  Twenty  times  than 
if  you  were  to  Hollow  [sic]  take  notice  I  don't  mean 
to  recommend  that  other  extreme  only  as  being  less 
hurtfull  than  the  former.  I  don't  wonder  our  dear 
friend  prohibited  John  Gilpin,  as  he  seems  always  since 
his  unhappy  illness  to  suffer  martyrdom  from  the  idea 
of  having  wrote  it !  When  it  shall  please  God  to 
bring  him  once  more  to  Himself  and  to  the  right  use 
of  his  facultys,  I  flatter  myself  he  will  see  it  in  the  same 
light  that  other  people  do,  and  be  as  pleased  with  it 
as  they  are.  The  moment  you  can  tell  me  that  this 
dear  Soul  is  capable  of  laughing  at  dear  Johnny  Gilpin 
I  shall  be  sure  he  is  well  and  quite  himself.  I  conclude 
our  little  friend  Rose  is  returned  to  London,  but  I 
have  not  had  even  a  line  from  him,  by  which  I  conclude 
he  had  no  agreeable  news  to  tell  me.  If  he  had  I 
know  he  would  have  delighted  to  communicate  it.  I 
must  beg  when  you  write  next  my  good  Sir  John 
that  you  will  let  me  know  how  our  dear  Cousin  received 
him,  and  what  he  thought  of  his  visit  ?  by  the  way 
when  you  write  next  you  may  direct  to  Clifton  near 
Bristol  as  I  believe  I  shall  be  there  the  week  after 
next — that  is  about  ye  loth  of  Oct.  and  if  I  am  not 
it  will  be  sent  to  me.  Before  I  conclude  I  must  desire 
your  good  and  pretty  Sister  will  not  think  herself 
under  any  necessity  to  write  to  me,  I  shall  with  pleasure 
receive  her  Approbation  of  the  Muslins  from  your  Pen, 
This  tell  her  and  believe  me, 

Your  obliged  and  faithfull  servt., 

H.  HESKETH. 


200  LADY    HESKETH 

How  am  I  to  pay  the  money  that  may  be  owing 
to  Sam's  Mother  or  Aunt  ?  Will  the  Rose  convey  it 
to  the  good  Samaritan  ?  If  he  can  I  will  pay  him 
again.  By  the  way  it  occurs  to  me  that  a  Silver  Stan- 
dish  plainer  than  that  intended  for  Hayley  may  be  a 
very  proper  present  to  Dr.  Gregson  think  of  it  yourself 
and  consult  the  Rose — tho'  I  am  afraid  he  has  quite 
forgot  that  I  wished  him  to  bespeak  a  very  elegant 
one  as  a  present  from  our  Cousin  to  his  friend  Hayley 
who  ought  long  since  to  have  had  some  Token  of  his 
remembrance. 


Lady  Hesketh  to  the  Rev.  John  Johnson 

ADVICE    TO   THE   LEAN 

BATH,  April  25,  1799. 

I  am  glad  I  have  not  a  Frank  for  I  heartily  wish  this 
letter  might  cost  you  75.  instead  of  8  pence  ! 

Why  thou  wickedest  of  mortals  !  how  could  you  be 
so  barbarous  as  to  own  to  me  that  our  dear  friend 
had  written  two  little  original  Pieces  and  not  to  send 
them  to  me  !  O  thou  Savage  Monster  more  Cruel  than 
all  the  monsters  of  the  Desert !  worse  even  than  Buona- 
parte and  all  his  myrmidons — write  them  out  directly, 
and  send  them  to  me,  if  you  expect  to  die  quietly  in 
your  bed  with  yr.  Friends  crying  round  you  as  an 
honest  man  ought  to  do.  I  know  not  what  you  think 
or  how  at  such  a  time  you  could  find  leisure  to  look 
thro'  black  Crape,  but  I  am  so  out  of  myself  with  joy 
at  the  idea  of  his  having  written  anything  which  I  look 
upon  as  so  sure  a  proof  of  the  Restoration  of  his  faculties 
that  I  almost  could  hear  unmoved  the  account  of  his 


COWPER'S    DIET  201 

Leanness  tho'  that  is  so  different  from  the  account 
the  Rose  gave  of  him  in  the  Winter.  I  am  very  glad 
you  purpose  giving  him  asses  milk  which  I  know  must 
be  the  best  thing  he  can  take — I  grieve  to  think  of  his 
poor  Teeth  being  loose — but  that  Misfortune  will  make 
Chicken  seem  as  tough  as  (?) — Beef — one  thing  I  would 
advise  that  if  you  feed  yr.  Chickens  at  home,  you  would 
always  put  brown  Sugar  the  coarsest  you  can  get  in 
their  victuals — it  Fats  them  much  better  and  makes 
them  very  tender,  and  extremely  good — believe  me 
pray.  I  will  send  you  two  or  three  Recipes  on  the 
other  side  this  paper  of  things  quite  proper  for  our 
dear  Cousin — extremely  nourishing — easy  to  eat  and 
what  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  like. 

Till  his  digestion  is  stronger  you  must  not  attempt 
to  give  him  solid  meat — Sago  puddings,  blancmanges, 
jellys,  and  the  like,  are  best,  but  before  I  proceed  to 
the  Receipt  let  me  say  that  I  insist  my  good  Johnny 
(for  I  have  taken  a  little  out  in  my  chair  and  my  fury 
against  you  is  somewhat  appeased,  therefore  do  I  call 
you  good  Johnny)  that  you  send  me  his  verses  forth- 
with— and  moreover  do  I  insist  likewise  that  you  will 
not  on  any  account  let  any  human  Being  see  one  line 
of  them  but  Me — there  are  many  reasons  for  this  which 
shall  all  be  detailed  to  you  in  time,  tho*  'tis  more  than 
possible  you  may  guess  them,  at  present  you  have  only 
to  obey  my  arbitrary  commands. 

Adieu  and  may  Heaven  prosper  you  as  you  observe 
the  directions  of, 

Yrs.  sincerely, 

H.  H. 


202  LADY    MORGAN 

SYDNEY   OWENSON  (Lady  Morgan)   (1780-1859) 

WAS  the  daughter  of  Robert  Owenson,  an  Irish  theatrical 
manager.  She  married  Thomas  Charles  Morgan,  M.D.,  who 
was  afterwards  knighted.  In  order  to  support  her  family 
after  the  death  of  her  father  she  became  a  governess  and 
subsequently  an  author,  writing  many  novels — "  The  Wild 
Irish  Girl,"  etc. — which  were  well  known  in  their  day.  Lord 
Melbourne  granted  her  a  pension  in  1837  in  recognition  of 
her  literary  work. 

To  her  Father 

THE    PAINTED    PIGEON 

ST.  ANDREW'S  STREET,  DUBLIN,  Sunday  Night,  9  o'clock,  [1796  ?] 
MY    DEAREST    SlR    AND    MOST    DEAR    PAPA, You    SC6 

how  soon  I  begin  to  fulfil  your  commands,  for  you  are 
not  many  hours  gone.  But  you  bid  me  not  let  a  day 
pass  before  I  began  a  journal  and  telling  you  all  that 
happens  to  your  two  poor  loving  little  girls,  who  were 
never  so  unhappy  in  all  their  lives  as  when  they  saw 
the  yellow  chaise  wheels  turn  down  the  corner  of  Trinity 
Street,  and  lose  sight  of  you,  there  we  remained  with  our 
necks  stretched  out  of  the  window,  and  Molly  crying 
over  us,  "  Musha,  Musha  !  "  when,  looking  up,  she 
suddenly  cried  out,  "  See  what  God  has  sent  to  comfort 
ye  !  "  and  it  was  indeed  remarkable  that  at  that  very 
moment  the  heavy  clouds  that  rested  over  the  dome  of 
the  round  church  just  opposite,  broke  away,  and  in  a 
burst  of  sunshine,  down  came  flying  a  beautiful  gold- 
coloured  bird,  very  much  resembling  that  beautiful 
picture  in  the  picture-gallery  in  Kilkenny  Castle  which 
we  so  lately  saw.  Well,  sir,  it  came  fluttering  down  to 
the  very  sill  of  the  window,  Molly  thinking,  I  believe, 
it  was  a  miracle  sent  to  comfort  us,  when,  lo  and  behold, 


THE    UNDERGRADUATE  203 

dearest  papa,  what  should  it  turn  out  to  be  but  Mrs. 
Skee's  old  Tom  pigeon,  who  roosts  every  night  on  the 
top  of  St.  Andrew's,  and  whom  her  mischievous  son  had 
painted  yellow  \ 

Olivia  made  great  game  of  Saint  Molly  and  her  miracle, 
and  made  such  a  funny  sketch  of  her  as  made  me  die 
laughing,  and  that  cheered  us  both  up.  After  breakfast, 
Molly  dressed  us  "  neat  as  hands  and  pins  could  make 
us,"  she  said,  and  we  went  to  church  ;  but  just  as  we 
were  stepping  out  of  the  hall  door,  who  should  come 
plump  against  us  but  James  Carter,  and  he  looked  so 
well  and  handsome  in  his  new  college  robe  and  square 
cap  (the  first  time  he  had  ever  put  them  on)  and  a 
beautiful  prayer-book  in  his  hand,  that  we  really  did 
not  know  him.  He  said  he  had  forgotten  to  leave  a 
message  for  us  on  his  way  to  the  college  chapel,  from 
his  grandma,  to  beg  that  we  would  come  in  next  door 
and  dine  with  her,  as  we  must  be  very  lonely  after  our 
father's  departure,  which  offer,  of  course,  we  accepted  ; 
and  he  said  with  his  droll  air,  "  If  you  will  allow  me  the 
honour,  I  will  come  in  and  escort  you  at  four  o'clock." 
"No,  sir,"  said  Molly,  who  hates  him,  and  who  said  he 
only  wanted  to  come  in  and  have  a  romp  with  Miss  Livy, 
"  there  is  no  need,  as  your  grandmother  lives  only  next 
door  "  ;  and  so  we  went  to  church  and  Molly  went  to 
Mass  ;  and  all  this  diverted  our  grief  though  it  did  not 
vanquish  it.  Well,  we  had  such  a  nice  dinner  !  It  is 
impossible  to  tell  you  how  droll  James  Carter  was,  and 
how  angry  he  made  the  dear  old  lady,  who  put  him 
down  constantly,  with,  "  You  forget,  sir,  that  you  are 
now  a  member  of  the  most  learned  university  in  the 
world,  and  no  longer  a  scrubby  school  boy."  Well, 
the  cloth  was  scarcely  removed  and  grace  said  by  James 


204  LADY    MORGAN 

(by  the  bye  with  such  a  long  face),  when  he  started  up 
and  said,  "  Come,  girls,  let  us  have  a  stroll  in  the  College 
Park  whilst  Granny  takes  her  nap."  Oh,  if  you  could 
only  see  Granny's  face.  "  No,  sir,"  said  she,  "  the 
girls,  as  you  are  pleased  to  call  the  young  ladies  your* 
cousins,  shall  not  go  and  stroll  with  you  among  a  pack 
of  young  collegians  and  audacious  nursery-maids.  Now 
that  you  are  a  member  of  the  most  learned  university 
in  the  world,  you  might  stay  quiet  at  home  on  the  Lord's 
day,  and  read  a  sermon  for  your  young  friends,  or  at 
least  recommend  them  some  good  book  to  read  whilst 
Granny  takes  her  nap."  All  this  time  Jem  looked  the 
image  of  Mawworm  in  the  play,  and  then  taking  two 
books  off  the  window  seats,  he  gave  one  to  each  of  us, 
and  said,  "  Mark,  learn,  and  inwardly  digest  till  I 
return." 

The  next  moment  he  was  flying  by  the  window  and 
kissing  hands,  and  so  Granny  and  the  old  black  cat 
purring  together,  fell  fast  asleep,  and  we  took  up  our 
books  and  seated  ourselves  in  each  of  the  parlour 
windows.  Now  what  do  you  think,  papa,  these  books 
were?  Olivia's  was  "Sheridan's  Dictionary,"  and  mine 
was  an  "  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,"  by  Mr. 
Locke,  gent.  I  was  going  to  throw  mine  down,  but,  struck 
by  some  anecdotes  about  children,  which  brought  me  back 
to  my  dear  old  days  at  Drumcondra,  I  began  at  the 
beginning  and  read  on  for  a  full  hour  and  a  half.  How 
it  set  me  thinking  from  the  moment  when  I  had  not  a 
thought  or  an  idea,  which  was  the  case  in  my  infancy, 
for  it  is  clear  that  we  have  no  innate  ideas  when  we  are 
born,  which  certainly  never  struck  me  before  ;  and  this 
set  me  thinking  upon  what  I  could  longest  remember, 
and  /  think  it  was  the  smell  of  the  mignionette,  for  I  can 


JUVENILE    LITERATURE  205 

remember  when  I  first  smelled  it,  and  the  pleasure  it 
gave  me,  and  above  all,  your  singing  "  Dreminda,"  the 
Black  Cow,  which  always  made  me  cry.  But  when  we 
meet,  please  God,  we  will  talk  over  all  this,  meantime 
I  shall  make  extracts,  as  you  know  I  always  do,  of  what 
I  read  ;  for  James  has  lent  me  the  book,  though  it  was 
his  school  prize,  and  very  handsome,  saying,  rather 
pertly,  "  Why,  you  little  fool,  you  won't  understand  a 
word  of  it."  But  I  convinced  him  to  the  contrary  at 
tea,  to  Granny's  amazement,  who  said,  "  You  might 
have  found  a  better  book  to  put  into  her  hands  on  the 
Sabbath  day." 

Now,  dear  Sir,  good-night ;  Molly  is  so  teazing  with 
her  yawning,  and  saying,  "  After  being  up  at  six  o'clock, 
one  may,  I  suppose,  go  to  bed  before  midnight."  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  that  good  Mr.  O'Flaherty  has  been 
here,  and  told  Molly  that  he  was  very  glad  you  were 
gone  off  and  out  of  the  way  of  the  Philistines,  and  that 
he  would  bring  us  Castle  franks  twice  a  week  from  his 
friend  Mr.  Irk,  who  was  in  the  Treasury,  that  would 
hold  a  house  !  So  I  shall  have  no  conscience  in  writing 
to  you  on  the  score  of  postage.  You  are  to  direct  your 
letters  under  cover  to  Mr.  O'Flaherty  to  G.  Irk,  Esq., 
Castle,  Dublin. 

Your  dutiful  daughter, 

SYDNEY. 


Sydney  Owenson  to  Thomas  Charles  Morgan 

THE   WHISKERS 

October  31,  1811. 

I  am  not  half  such  a  little  rascal  as  you  suppose  ;  the 
best  feelings  only  have  detained  me  from  you  ;    and 


206  LADY    MORGAN 

feelings  better  than  the  best  will  bring  me  back  to  you. 
I  must  be  more  or  less  than  woman  to  resist  tenderness, 
goodness,  excellence,  like  yours,  and  I  am  simply  woman,x  s 
aye,  dear,  "  every  inch  a  woman."  I  feel  a  little  kind/ 
of  tingling  about  the  heart,  at  once  more  feeling  myself 
nestled  in  yours  ;  do  you  remember  ?  Well,  dear,  if  you 
don't  I  will  soon  revive  your  recollection — I  said  I  would 
not  write  to  you  to-day,  but  I  could  not  resist  it,  and  I 
am  now  going  off  to  a  man  of  business,  and  about  Lady 
Abercorn's  books,  in  the  midst  of  the  snow,  and  pinched 
with  cold.  God  bless  you,  love. 

S.  O. 

Your  song  is  charming  ;  you  are  a  clever  wretch, 
and  I  love  you  more  for  your  talents  than  your  virtues, 
you  thing  of  the  world.  What  put  it  into  your  stupid 
head  that  I  would  not  return  at  Christmas  ?  Did  I 
ever  say  so,  blockhead  ? 

Well,  I  have  only  the  old  story  to  tell,  no  more  than 
yourself — 

And  I  loves  you,  and  you  loves  me, 
And  oh  !    how  happy  we  shall  be. 

Take  care  of  the  whiskers — mind  they  are  not  to 
grow  thus — but  thus —  [Here  follows  in  the  letter  a 
couple  of  droll  portraits  of  Morgan,  with  the  whiskers 
grown  and  trimmed  in  the  two  fashions  then  in  favour]. 


Sydney  Owenson  to  Thomas  Charles  Morgan 

IRISH    LORE 

December  24,   1811. 

I  told  you  yesterday,  dearest,  that  you  should  have 
a  long  letter  to  day,  and  here  comes  one  as  short  as 


IRISH    LORE  207 

myself.  The  reason  is,  that  a  good  old  Irishman  has 
sent  me  20,000  volumes  of  old  Irish  books  to  make 
extracts  from,  and  to  return  them  directly,  and  here  I 
am  in  poor  Dad's  room  just  after  binding  up  his  poor 
blistered  head,  and  I  am  just  going  to  work  pell-mell, 
looking  like  a  little  conjurer,  with  all  my  black-lettered 
books  about  me.  I  am  extracting  from  Edmund 
Spenser,  who  loved  Ireland  tant  soit  peu  ;  dearest,  your 
letters  are  delicious,  'tis  such  a  sweet  feeling  to  create 
happiness  for  those  we  love  ;  if  we  have  but  de  quoi 
vivre  in  a  nutshell  house  in  London,  /  shall  be  satisfied, 
and  you  shall  be  made  as  happy  as  Irish  lore,  Irish 
talent,  and  Irish  fun  can  make  a  grave,  cold,  shy  English- 
man. Your  song  is  divine.  Here  is  Livy  just  come 
in  and  insists  on  saying  so  ;  but  first  I  must  tell  you 
that  poor,  dear  papa  continues  very  ill,  and  so  low- 
spirited  that  it  is  heart-breaking  to  listen  to  him. 

SYDNEY. 

Lady  Morgan  to  Lady  Stanley 

GETTING    STRAIGHT 

35,  KILDARE  STREET,  DUBLIN,  Monday,  May  17  [1813]. 
Vous  voila  aux  abois,  ma  cheve  dame  \  \  You  see  1  am 
not  to  be  distanced  ;  retreat  as  you  will,  I  still  pursue. 
When  I  am  within  a  mile  of  you,  you  will  not  see  me  ; 
when  I  write  you  will  not  answer  ;  and  still  here  I  am 
at  your  feet,  because  I  will  not  be  rebutee,  nor  (throw 
me  off  as  you  may)  will  I  ever  give  you  up  until  I  find 
something  that  resembles  you,  something  to  fill  up  the 
place  you  have  so  long  occupied  ;  the  fact  is,  my  dear 
Lady  Stanley,  it  is  pure  selfishness  that  ties  me  to  you. 
/  do  not  like  women,  I  cannot  get  on  with  them  !  And 


208  LADY   MORGAN 

except  the  excessive  tenderness  which  I  have  always 
felt  for  my  sister  be  called  friendship,  you  (and  one  or 
two  more,  par  parenthese)  are  the  only  woman  to  whom 
I  could  ever  Her  myself  for  a  week  together.  Se  devancer 
de  son  sexe  is  as  dangerous  as  De  se  devancer  de  son  Siecle. 
It  was  no  effort;  no  willing  of  mine  that  has  given  me  a 
little  the  start  of  the  major  part  of  them  ;  dear  little 
souls  !  who,  as  Ninon  says,  '-'  le  trouvent  plus  comntode 
d'etre  jolie."  The  principle  was  there ;  active  and 
restless,  the  spur  was  given,  and  off  I  went,  happy  in  the 
result  that  my  comparative  superiority  obtained  me 
one  such  friend  as  yourself — that  is,  as  you  were  ;  but  I 
fear  you  now  cut  me  dead. 

We  have  at  last  got  into  a  home  of  our  own  ;  we  found 
an  old,  dirty,  dismantled  house,  and  we  have  turned 
our  piggery  into  a  decent  sort  of  hut  enough  ;  we  have 
made  it  clean  and  comfortable,  which  is  all  our  moderate 
circumstances  will  admit  of,  save  one  little  bit  of  a  room, 
which  is  a  real  bijou,  and  it  is  about  four  inches  by  three, 
and,  therefore,  one  could  afford  to  ornament  it  a  little ; 
it  is  fitted  up  in  the  gothic,  and  I  have  collected  into  it 
the  best  part  of  a  very  good  cabinet  of  natural  history 
of  Sir  Charles,  eight  or  nine  hundred  volumes  of  choice 
books,  in  French,  English,  Italian,  and  German  ;  some 
little  miscellaneous  curiosities,  and  a  few  scraps  of  old 
china,  so  that  with  muslin  draperies,  etc.,  etc.,  I  have 
made  no  contemptible  set  out.  I  was  thinking  that 
maybe  Susette  could  enrich  my  store  in  the  old  china 
way,  if  she  has  any  refuse  of  that  sort  which  you  may 
have  thrown  her  in  with  your  cast-off  wardrobe — a 
broken  cup,  a  bottomless  bowl,  a  spoutless  teapot — 
in  a  word,  anything  old  and  shattered,  that  is  china, 
and  of  no  value  to  you,  will  be  of  use  and  ornament  to 


THE    NEW    HOUSE  209 

me,  and  Captain  Skinner  has  promised  to  bring  it  over 
for  me. 

With  respect  to  authorship,  I  fear  it  is  over.  I  have 
been  making  chair-covers  instead  of  periods  ;  hanging 
curtains  instead  of  raising  systems,  and  cheapening  pots 
and  pans  instead  of  selling  sentiment  and  philosophy. 
Meantime,  my  husband  is,  as  usual,  deep  in  study,  and 
if  his  popularity  here  may  be  deemed  a  favourable 
omen,  will,  I  trust,  soon  be  deep  in  practice.  Well, 
always  dear  friend  ;  any  chance  of  a  line  in  answer  of 
my  three  pages  of  verbiage  ?  Just  make  the  effort  of 
taking  up  the  pen,  and  if  you  only  write  "  Glorvina,  I 
am  well,  and  love  you  still,"  I  will  be  contented. 
Under  all  circumstances, 

Yours  affectionately 

S.  MORGAN. 


Lady  Morgan  to  her  sister,  Lady  Clarke 

BRITISHERS    ABROAD 

CALAIS,  August  27,  1818. 

Here  we  are,  my  dear  love,  after  a  tremendous 
expense  at  the  hotel  at  Dover,  where  we  slept  last  night, 
and  embarked  at  twelve  o'clock  this  morning,  in  a 
stormy  sea.  The  captain  remained  behind  to  try  and 
get  more  passengers,  and  the  result  was  that  we  re- 
mained tossing  in  the  bay  near  two  hours,  almost  to  the 
extinction  of  our  existence.  In  my  life  I  never  suffered 
so  much.  As  to  Morgan,  he  was  a  dead  man.  The 
whole  voyage  we  were  equally  bad  ;  and  the  ship  could 
not  be  got  into  port — so  we  were  flung,  more  dead  than 
alive,  into  a  wretched  sail-boat,  and  how  we  got  on 

14 


210  LADY    MORGAN 

shore  I  do  not  know.  It  rained  in  torrents  all  the 
time  ;  but  the  moment  I  touched  French  ground,  and 
breathed  French  air,  I  got  well.  We  came  to  our  old 
auberge,  MM.  Maurice's,  and  the  first  place  we  got  to 
was  the  kitchen  fire,  for  we  were  wet  and  cold  ; — and 
really,  in  that  kitchen  I  saw  more  beauty  than  at  many 
of  our  London  parties.  Madame  Maurice  and  her 
daughter  are  both  handsome  women.  We  were  obliged 
to  have  bedrooms  opposite  the  auberge ,  as  it  was  quite 
full,  but  the  house,  Madame  told  us,  belongs  to  "  mama." 
She  is  herself  about  fifty,  so  you  may  guess  what 
"  mama  "  is  :  she  is  admirable — a  powdered  head,  three 
feet  high,  and  souflet  gauze  winker  cap.  Our  chamber- 
maid is  worth  anything.  She  is  not  one  of  the  kitchen 
beauties,  par  exemple  ;  but  here  she  is,  an  ugly  woman 
of  seventy,  in  her  chemise,  with  the  simple  addition  of 
a  red  corset  and  a  petticoat,  several  gold  chains,  and  an 
immense  cross  of  shiny  stones  on  her  neck,  with  long 
gold  earrings,  and  with  such  a  cap  as  I  wore  at  a 
masquerade.  With  all  this  her  name  is  Melanie  ;  and 
Melanie  has  beauty  airs  as  well  as  beauty  name.  Whilst 
she  was  lighting  our  wood  fire  (for  it  is  severely  cold) 
I  asked  her  some  questions  about  Mr.  Maurice.  You 
may  guess  what  a  personage  he  is,  for  she  said:  A h, 
pour  notre  M.  Maurice  on  ne  parle  que  de  lui — partout, 
Madame,  on  ne  s'occupe  que  de  notre  M.  Maurice.  So 
much  for  Miss  Melanie  and  her  Mr.  Grundy.  We  dined 
at  the  table  d'hote.  We  had  an  Englishman  and  his 
wife  and  a  Frenchman  only,  for  our  company.  The 
Frenchman  was  delightful.  We  had  a  capital  table, 
with  everything  good  and  in  profusion  ;  but  the  English- 
man sat  scowling,  and  called  for  all  sorts  of  English 
sauces,  said  the  fish  was  infamous  and  found  fault  with 


THE    FRENCH    CHAMBERMAID  211 

everything,  and  said  to  the  waiter — "  What  do  you  mean 
by  your  confounded  sour  mustard  ?  "  The  poor  waiter 
to  all  his  remarks  only  answered  in  English,  "  How  is 

dat,  sar  ?  "     The  Burgundy  was  "  such  d d  stuff.'* 

And  the  last  remark  was,  "  Why,  your  confounded  room 
has  not  been  papered  these  twenty  years,"  was  too 
much  for  our  good  breeding  ;  and  we  and  the  French- 
man laughed  outright.  Is  it  not  funny  to  see  our 
countrymen  leave  their  own  country  for  the  sole  pleasure 
of  being  dissatisfied  with  everything  ? 

We  leave  this  early  to-morrow,  and  shall  be  in  Paris 
the  next  day,  please  God.  Lafayette  is  to  come  up  for 
us  to  take  us  to  his  chateau  ;  until,  therefore,  I  leave 
the  post  town  of  La  Grange,  direct  to  the  Hotel  d'Orlcans, 
where  we  shall  go  on  our  arrival  in  Paris.  I  feel  myself 
so  gay  here  already  that  I  am  sure  my  elements  are  all 
French.  A  thousand  loves,  and  French  and  Irish  kisses 
to  the  darlings. 

S.  M. 

Lady  Morgan  to  her  sister,  Lady  Clarke 

THE    BONAPARTE    FAMILY 

ROME,  February  4,   1820. 

DEAR  LOVE, — Your  letters  have  given  us  great  un- 
easiness about  our  house  ;  but  I  have  no  room  for  any 
feeling  except  joy  and  gratitude  that  you  are  well  out 
of  your  troubles,  and  that  the  young  knight  promises 
to  do  honour  to  his  people. 

Now  for  Rome,  and  our  mode  of  existence.  Im- 
mediately after  breakfast  we  start  on  our  tours  to  ruins, 
churches,  galleries,  collections,  etc.,  etc.,  and  return 
late  ;  dine,  on  an  average,  three  times  a  week  at  English 


212  LADY   MORGAN 

dinner-parties  ;  we  are  scarcely  at  home  in  the  evenings, 
and  never  in  the  mornings.  The  Duchess  of  Devon- 
shire is  unceasing  in  her  attentions  to  me  ;  not  only  is 
her  house  open  to  us,  but  she  calls  and  takes  me  out  to 
show  me  what  is  best  to  be  seen.  As  Cardinal  Gonsalvi 
does  not  receive  ladies,  she  arranged  that  I  was  to  be  in- 
troduced to  him  in  the  Pope's  chapel ;  as  he  was  coming 
out  in  the  procession  of  cardinals,  he  stepped  aside,  and 
we  were  presented.  He  insisted  upon  calling  on  me, 
and  took  our  address.  Cardinal  Fesche  (Bonaparte's 
uncle)  is  quite  my  beau  ;  he  called  on  us  the  other 
day,  and  wanted  me  to  drive  out  with  him,  but  Morgan 
looked  at  his  scarlet  hat  and  stockings,  and  would  not 
let  me  go.  We  have  been  to  his  palace,  and  he  has 
shown  us  his  fine  collection  (one  of  the  finest  in  Rome). 
Lord  William  Russell,  Mr.  Adair,  the  Charlemonts,  etc., 
are  coming  to  us  this  evening.  Madam  Mere  (Napoleon's 
mother)  sent  to  say  she  would  be  glad  to  see  me  ;  we 
were  received  quite  in  an  imperial  style.  I  never  saw 
so  fine  an  old  lady — still  quite  handsome.  She  was 
dressed  in  rich  crimson  velvet,  trimmed  with  sable,  with 
a  point-lace  ruff  and  head-dress.  The  pictures  of  her 
sons  hung  round  the  room,  all  in  royal  robes,  and  her 
daughter  and  grandchildren,  and  at  the  head  of  them 
all,  old  Mr.  Bonaparte !  Every  time  she  mentioned 
Napoleon  the  tears  came  in  her  eyes.  She  took  me  into 
her  bedroom  to  show  me  the  miniatures  of  her  three 
children.  She  is  full  of  sense,  feeling,  and  spirit,  and 
not  the  least  what  I  expected — vulgar.  We  dined  at 
the  Princess  Borghese's — Louis  Bonaparte,  the  ex-king 
of  Holland's  son,  dined  there — a  fine  boy  ;  Lord  William 
Russell,  and  some  Roman  ladies  in  the  evening.  She 
invited  us  all  to  see  her  jewels  ;  we  passed  through 


CARDINAL    FESCHE  213 

eight  rooms  en  suite  to  get  to  her  bedroom.  The  bed  was 
white-and-gold,  the  quilt  point-lace,  and  the  sheets  French 
cambric  embroidered.  The  jewels  were  magnificent. 

Nothing  can  be  kinder  than  the  Charlemont  family. 
We  were  at  three  soirees  all  in  one  night.  With  great 
difficulty  I  at  last  got  at  Miss  Curran,1  for  she  leads  the 
life  of  a  hermit.  She  is  full  of  talent  and  intellect, 
pleasant,  interesting,  and  original  ;  and  she  paints 
like  an  artist. 

God  bless  you. 

S.  M. 

Lady  Morgan  to  her  sister,  Lady  Clarke 

IMPRESSIONS    OF   ST.    PETER'S 

ROME,  PALAZZO  GIORGIO,  April  2,  1820. 
MY  DEAREST  LOVE, — Here  we  are  again,  safe  and  sound, 
as  I  trust  this  will  find  you  all.  We  were  much  disap- 
pointed at  not  finding  a  letter  here  on  our  return,  and  now 
all  our  hopes  are  fixed  on  Venice,  for  which  we  should 
have  departed  this  day,  but  for  the  impossibility  of 
getting  horses  ;  the  moment  the  Holy  Week  was  over 
there  was  a  general  break-up,  and  this  strange  whirligig, 
travelling  world,  who  were  all  mad  to  get  here,  are  now 
all  mad  to  get  away.  Before  I  place  myself  at  Rome, 
however,  I  must  take  you  back  with  me  for  a  little  to 
Naples.  Just  as  I  despatched  my  letter  to  you,  with 
the  account  of  my  February  summer,  arrives  the  month 
of  March  with  storms  of  winds,  a  fall  of  snow  on  the 
mountains,  and  all  this  in  an  immense  barrack,  called 

i  Daughter  of  the  Irish  politician.  She  painted  the  best-known 
portrait  of  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  now  in  the  National  Portrait 
Gallery. 


214  LADY   MORGAN 

a  palace,  without  chimneys,  or  doors  that  shut,  or 
windows  that  close.  In  short,  as  to  climate,  take  it 
all  in  all,  I  am  as  well  satisfied  now  with  my  old,  wet- 
blanket  Irish  climate  as  any  other.  I  had  nothing  to 
complain  of,  however,  at  Naples  but  the  climate — 
nothing  could  exceed  the  kindness  and  politeness  of  the 
Neapolitans  to  us  both.  Every  Monday  we  were 
invited  to  a  festino  given  by  the  Neapolitan  nobility  to 
the  English,  and  our  time  passed,  in  point  of  society, 
most  delightfully.  There  is  less  to  be  seen  than  at 
Rome  ;  but  those  few  sights  are  more  curious  and  more 
perfect  than  anything  at  Rome  except  the  Coliseum. 
The  buried  town  at  Pompeii,  for  instance,  is  unique — 
a  complete  Roman  town  as  it  stood  two  thousand  years 
ago,  almost  all  the  furniture  in  high  preservation — but 
this  is  beyond  the  compass  of  a  letter.  We  left  pleasant, 
brilliant  Naples  with  infinite  regret,  and  our  journey 
here  was  most  curious.  Notwithstanding  we  were  five 
carriages  strong,  yet  at  each  military  post  (and  they  were 
at  every  quarter  of  a  mile)  two  soldiers  leaped  upon  our 
carriage,  one  before  and  another  behind,  with  their 
arms,  and  gave  us  up  to  the  next  guard,  who  gave  us 
two  more  guards,  and  thus  we  performed  our  perilous 
journey  like  prisoners  of  state.  You  may  guess  the  state 
of  the  country  by  this.  At  Rome,  however,  all  danger 
from  bandits  ends ;  and  when  I  caught  a  view  of  the 
cupola  of  St.  Peter's,  rising  amidst  the  solitudes  of  the 
Campagna,  I  offered  up  as  sincere  a  thanksgiving  as 
ever  was  preferred  to  his  sanctity.  We  arrived  in  Rome 
in  time  for  the  first  of  the  ceremonies  of  the  Holy  Week. 
All  our  English  friends  at  Naples  arrived  at  the  same 
time  ;  but  after  the  Holy  Week  at  Rome,  never  talk  of 
Westminster  elections,  Irish  fairs,  or  English  bear- 


IMPRESSIONS    OF    ITALY  215 

gardens  !  I  never  saw  the  horrors  of  a  crowd  before, 
nor  such  a  curious  melange  of  the  ludicrous  and  the 
fearful.  We  had  a  ticket  sent  us  for  all  by  Cardinal 
Fesche,  and  saw  all ;  but  it  was  at  the  risk  of  our  limbs 
and  lives.  Of  all  the  ceremonies  the  benediction  was 
the  finest,  and  of  all  the  sights,  St.  Peter's  illuminated 
on  Easter  Sunday  night,  the  most  perfectly  beautiful. 
We  were  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  two  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  in  the  church  :  all  the  splendour  of  the 
earth  is  nothing  to  the  procession  of  the  Pope  and 
Cardinals.  Morgan  was  near  being  crushed  to  death, 
only  he  cried  out  to  Lord  Charlemont  to  give  him  some 
money  (for  he  could  not  get  to  his  pocket),  which  he 
threw  to  a  soldier,  who  rescued  him.  I  saw  half  the 
red  bench  of  England  tumbling  down  staircases,  and 
pushed  back  by  the  guard.  We  have  Queen  Caroline 
here.  At  first  this  made  a  great  fuss  whether  she  was 
or  was  not  to  be  visited  by  her  subjects,  when  lo  !  she 
refused  to  see  any  of  them,  and  lead  the  most  perfectly 
retired  life  !  We  met  her  one  day  driving  out  in  a  state 
truly  royal ;  I  never  saw  her  so  splendid.  Young 
Austen  followed  in  an  open  carriage  ;  he  is  an  interesting* 
looking  young  man.  She  happened  to  arrive  at  an  inn 
near  Rome  when  Lord  and  Lady  Leitrim  were  there  ; 
she  sent  for  them  and  invited  them  to  tea.  Lady 
Leitrim  told  me  her  manner  was  perfect,  and  altogether 
she  was  a  most  improved  woman ;  the  Baron  attended 
her  at  tea,  but  merely  as  a  chamberlain,  and  was  not 
introduced.  Before  you  will  receive  this,  if  accounts 
be  true,  Her  Majesty  will  be  in  England.  I  think  you 
will  not  be  sorry  to  hear  that  if  we  live  and  do  well,  our 
next  letter  will  be  dated  from  Paris. 

S.  M. 


2i6  LADY    MORGAN 

Lady  Morgan  to 

PAGANINI'S   LOVE   STORY 

DUBLIN,  1831. 

.  .  .  Since  our  return  we  have  been  in  perpetual 
agitation  about  the  Reform  Bill,  but  I  picked  one  gay, 
light-hearted,  agreeable  evening  out  of  the  bustle — a 
dinner  and  soiree  for  Paganini.  I  asked  him,  not  as  a 
miraculous  fiddle-player,  but  as  a  study.  He  came 
into  the  drawing-room  in  a  great-coat,  a  clumsy  walking- 
stick,  and  his  hat  in  his  hand  (quite  a  Penruddock  figure), 
and  walking  up  to  me,  made  a  regular  set  speech  in  his 
Genoese  Italian,  which  I  am  convinced  was  taught  him 
by  his  secretaries  ;  it  abounded  in  donnas,  celebrittissimas , 
and  all  the  superlatives  of  Italian  gallantry.  At  dinner 
he  seemed  wonderfully  occupied  with  the  dishes  in 
succession,  and  frequently  said,  "  ho  troppo  magiato  !  " 
at  each  dish,  exclaiming,  "  bravissimo  /  excellentissimo  /  " 
The  fact  is,  I  copied  a  Florentine  dinner  as  closely  as  I 
could,  having  had  a  Florentine  cook  all  the  time  we  were 
in  Italy  ;  so  we  had  a  minestra  al  Vermicelli,  maccaroni, 
in  all  forms,  etc.,  etc.  I  asked  him  if  he  were  not  the 
happiest  man  in  the  world,  every  day  acquiring  so  much 
fame  and  so  much  money.  He  sighed,  and  said  he  should 
be,  but  for  one  thing,  "  i  ragazzi"  the  little  blackguards 
that  ran  after  him  in  the  streets.  In  the  evening  I  took 
him  into  the  boudoir  ;  we  had  a  tete-a-tete  of  an  hour, 
in  which  he  told  me  his  whole  story  ;  but  in  such  an 
odd,  simple,  Italian,  gossiping  manner,  half  by  signs, 
looks,  and  inflections  of  the  voice,  that  though  I  can 
take  him  off  to  the  life  verbally,  I  can  give  no  idea  of 
him  on  paper  ;  ^still  here  is  the  outline.  His  father  and 
mother  in  humble  life  in  Genoa,,  fond  of  music — no 


IL    CONCERTO    D'AMORE  217 

more.  At  four  years  old  he  played  the  guitar,  and, 
untaught,  attended  all  the  churches  to  sing,  and  at 
seven  years  of  age  composed  something  like  a  cantata  ; 
then  he  took  up  the  violin,  and  made  such  progress 
that  his  father  travelled  about  with  him  from  one 
Italian  town  to  another,  till  he  attracted  the  attention 
and  attained  the  patronage  of  Elise  Bonaparte,  then 
Grand  Duchess  of  Tuscany.  He  was  taken  into  her 
family,  and  played  constantly  at  her  brilliant  little  court ; 
there  he  fell  in  love  with  one  of  her  dames  d'honneur, 
who  turned  his  head,  he  said,  and  he  became  pazzo 
per  amore,  and  found  his  violin  expressed  his  passion 

better  than  he  could.     Mile.  B became  his  guide 

and  inspiration  ;  but  they  had  a  terrible  fracas,  they 
fought,  fell  out,  and  separated.  One  day,  in  his  despair, 
he  was  confiding  his  misery  to  his  beloved  violin,  and 
made  it  repeat  the  quarrel  just  as  it  happened  ;  he 
almost  made  it  articulate  .the  very  words,  and  in  the 

midst  of  this  singular  colloquy  Mile,  de  B rushed 

into  the  room  and  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
said,  "  Paganini,  your  genius  has  conquered."  Their 
reconciliation  followed,  and  she  begged  he  would  note 
down  those  inspirations  of  love  ;  he  did  so,  and  called 
it,  //  Concerto  d' Amore.  Having  left  it  by  accident  on 
the  piano  of  the  Grand  Duchess,  she  saw,  and  commanded 
him  to  play  it ;  he  did  so,  and  the  dialogue  of  the  two 
strings  had  a  wonderful  success.  He  married  after- 
wards a  chorus-singer  at  Trieste,  and  she  was  the  mother 
of  his  little  Paganini,  whom  he  doated  on.  The  mother, 
he  said,  abandoned  them  both,  and  that  now  he  was  no 
longer  susceptible  of  the  charms  of  the  "  Belle  Donne." 
His  violin  was  his  mistress.  While  telling  me  all  this, 
he  rolled  his  eyes  in  a  most  extraordinary  way,  and 


218  LADY    MORGAN 

assumed  a  look  that  it  is  impossible  to  define — really 
and  truly  something  demoniacal.  Still,  he  seems  to  me 
to  be  a  stupefied  and  almost  idiotic  creature. 


AMELIA  OPIE    (1769-1853) 

DAUGHTER  of  Dr.  Alderson  of  Norwich.  She  married  John 
Opie,  R.A.,  the  great  portrait-painter,  in  1798.  In  1801  her 
first  novel,  "  Father  and  Daughter,"  was  published  and  shortly 
afterward  her  poems.  Her  house  was  the  rendezvous  of  all 
the  most  famous  authors  and  artists  of  the  day.  She  wrote 
many  stories,  and  after  her  husband's  death  published  his 
lectures.  In  1825  Mrs.  Opie  became  a  Quakeress,  withdrew 
from  society,  and  abandoned  fiction,  but  she  continued  to 
write  for  the  magazines. 

To  Mrs.    Taylor 

JOHN    OPIE'S   PROPOSAL 

^  Tuesday,  1797. 

Why  have  I  not  written  to  you  ?  It  is  a  question  I 
cannot  answer,  you  must  answer  it  yourself,  but  attribute 
my  silence  not  to  any  diminution  of  affection  for  you.  .  . 

Believe  me,  I  still  hear  the  kind  fears  you  expressed 
for  me  when  we  parted,  and  still  see  the  flattering  tears 
that  you  shed  when  you  bade  me  adieu.  Indeed,  I 
shall  never  forget  them.  I  had  resolved  to  write  to  you 
as  soon  as  ever  I  had  seen  Richard,  but  it  was  a  resolu- 
tion made  to  be  broken,  like  many  others  in  this  busy 
scene.  Had  I  written  to  you  as  soon  as  I  left,  of  all 
those  whom  I  have  heard  talk  of  and  praise  you  as  you 
deserve,  I  should  have  ruined  you  in  postage.  Poor 

Mr.  C is  desperately  in  love  with  you,  by  his  own 

confession,  and  his  wife  admires  his  taste.  Mr.  Godwin 
was  much  gratified  by  your  letter,  and  he  avowed  that 


AMELIA    OPIE 

From  a  photograph  by  Emery  Walker, 
after  the  painting  by  John  Opie,  R.A. 


p.  218] 


THE    GODWINS  219 

it  made  him  love  you  better  than  he  did  before,  and 
Mrs.  Godwin  was  not  surprised  at  it ;  by  the  bye,  he 
never  told  me  whether  you  congratulated  him  on  his 
marriage  l  or  not ;  but  now  I  remember,  it  was  written 
before  that  wonder-creating  event  was  known.  Heigho  ! 
what  charming  things  would  sublime  theories  be,  if  one 
could  make  one's  practice  keep  up  with  them  ;  but  I 
am  convinced  it  is  impossible,  and  am  resolved  to  make 
the  best  of  every-day  nature. 

I  shall  have  much  to  tell  you  in  a  tete-a-tete  of  the 
Godwins,  etc. — so  much  that  a  letter  could  not  contain 
or  do  it  justice  ;  but  this  will  be  entre  nous.  I  love  to 
make  observations  on  extraordinary  characters  ;  but 
not  to  mention  those  observations  if  they  be  not  favour- 
able. "  Well  !  a  whole  page,  and  not  a  word  yet  of  the 
state  of  her  heart ;  the  subject  most  interesting  to  me," 
methinks  I  hear  your  exclaim  ;  patience,  friend,  it  will 
come  soon,  but  not  go  away  soon,  were  I  to  analyse  it, 
and  give  it  you  in  detail.  Suffice,  that  it  is  in  the  most 
comical  state  possible,  but  I  am  not  unhappy  ;  on  the 
contrary,  I  enjoy  everything  ;  and  if  my  head  be  not 
turned  by  the  large  draughts  which  my  vanity  is  daily 
quaffing,  I  shall  return  to  Norwich  much  happier  than 
I  left  it,  Mr.  Opie  has  (but  mum)  been  my  declared? 
lover,  almost  ever  since  I  came.  I  was  ingenuous  with! 
him  upon  principle,  and  I  told  him  my  situation,  and* 
the  state  of  my  heart.  He  said  he  should  still  persist, 
and  would  risk  all  consequences  to  his  own  peace,  and 
so  he  did  and  does  ;  and  I  have  not  resolution  to  forbid 
his  visits.  Is  not  this  abominable  ?  Nay,  more,  were 
I  not  certain  my  father  would  disapprove  such,  or 
indeed  any  connection  for  me,  there  are  moments  when, 
1  To  Mary  Wollstonecraft, 


220  AMELIA    OPIE 

ambitious  of  being  a  wife  and  mother,  and  of  securing 
for  myself  a  companion  for  life,  capable  of  entering  into 
all  my  pursuits  and  of  amusing  me  by  his — I  could 
almost  resolve  to  break  off  all  fetters,  and  relinquish, 
too,  the  wide,  and  often  aristocratic  circle  in  which  I 
now  move,  and  become  the  wife  of  a  man  whose  genius 
has  raised  him  from  obscurity  into  fame  and  compara- 
tive affluence  ;  but  indeed  my  mind  is  on  the  pinnacle 
of  its  health  when  I  thus  feel ;  and  on  a  pinnacle  one  can't 
remain  long  !  But  I  had  forgotten  to  tell  you  the  attrac- 
tion Mr.  O held  out,  that  staggered  me  beyond  any- 
thing else  ;  it  was,  that  if  I  was  averse  to  leaving  my 
father  he  would  joyfully  consent  to  his  living  with  us. 
What  a  temptation  to  me,  who  am  every  moment 
sensible  that  the  claims  of  my  father  will  always  be, 
with  me,  superior  to  any  claims  that  a  lover  can  hold 
out !  Often  do  I  rationally  and  soberly  state  to  Opie 
the  reasons  that  might  urge  me  to  marry  him,  in  time, 
and  the  reasons  why  I  never  would  be  happy  with  him 
nor  he  with  me  ;  but  it  always  ends  in  his  persisting  in 
his  suit,  and  protesting  his  willingness  to  wait  for  my 
decision,  even  while  I  am  seriously  rejecting  him,  and 
telling  him  I  have  decided.  ...  Mr.  Holcroft,  too,  has 
had  a  mind  to  me,  but  he  has  no  chance.  May  I  trouble 
you  to  tell  my  father  that  while  I  was  out  yesterday 
Hamilton  called,  and  left  a  note,  simply  saying,  "  Rich- 
ardson says  he  means  to  call  on  you  ;  I  have  seen  him  this 
morning."  Before  I  seal  this  letter  I  hope  to  receive  my 
farce  from  him  ;  I  will  put  my  letter  by  till  the  boy 

returns  from  R .  I  have  been  capering  about  the 

room  for  joy  at  having  gotten  my  farce  back  !  Now 
idleness  adieu,  when  Dicky  and  I  have  held  sweet  con- 
verse together  I  ... 


JOHN    OPIE'S    DEVOTION  22 1 

Amelia  Opie  to  Mrs.  Taylor 

OPIE    AND    HIS    STUDIO 

January  27,  1800. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND, —  .  .  .  John,  I  suppose,  informed 
you  he  called  on  us  ;  he  promised  to  come  and  dine 
with  us,  but  has  not  been  since  ;  and  as  I  have  been 
tied  by  the  foot  ever  since  the  day  after  Christmas-day, 
from  having  worn  a  tight-bound  shoe,  which  made  a 
hole  in  my  heel.  I  do  not  regret  his  false-heartedness, 
as  when  he  does  come  we  are  to  go  church  and  meeting 
hunting.  I  will  give  you  a  specimen  of  your  two  sons. 
"  John,"  said  I,  "  will  you  take  a  letter  from  me  to  your 
mother?"  "Certainly,"  replied  John,  "for  then  I 
shall  be  sure  of  being  welcome."  "  Fye,"  returned  I, 
"you  know,  Mr.  Courtier,  you  want  nothing  to  add  to 
the  heartiness  of  the  welcome  you  will  receive  at  home." 
"  No,  indeed,"  said  Richard ;  "  and  if  Mrs.  Opie  sends 
her  letter  by  you,  it  will  be  one  way  of  making  it  less 
valued  and  attended  to  than  it  would  otherwise  be." 
To  the  truth  of  this  speech  I  subscribed,  and  wrote  not.  I 
should  like  to  know  whether  you  are  most  pleased  with 
John's  polish  or  Richard's  sincerity.  .  .  .  Apropos,  I 
was  very  sorry  to  hear  of  your  husband's  severe  return  of 
gout,  but  as  he  had  a  long  respite  before,  I  hope  he  will 
again.  Severe  illness  has  (I  often  think)  on  the  frame  the 
same  effect  that  a  severe  storm  has  on  the  atmosphere. 
I  myself  am  much  better  in  every  respect  since  my  late 
indisposition  than  I  was  before  ;  and  the  mind  is  never 
perhaps  so  serene  and  tranquil  as  when  one  is  recovering 
from  sickness.  I  enjoyed  my  confinement,  as  I  was 
not  like  your  good  man,  in  pain.  My  husband  was  so 
kind  as  to  sit  with  me  every  evening,  and  even  to  intro- 


222  AMELIA    OPIE 

duce  his  company  to  my  bedside.  No  less  than  three 
beaux  had  the  honour  of  a  sitting  in  my  chamber.  Quite 
Parisian,  you  see,  but  I  dare  not  own  this  to  some  women. 
I  have  led  a  most  happy  and  delightful  life  since  my 
return,  and  in  the  whole  two  months  have  not  been 
out  more  than  four  times  ;  so  spouse  and  I  had  no 
squabbles  about  visiting,  and  that  is  the  only  thing  we 
ever  quarrel  about.  If  I  would  stay  at  home  for  ever, 
I  believe  he  would  be  merry  from  morning  to  night ;  and 
be  a  lover  more  than  a  husband  !  He  liad  a  mind  to 
accompany  me  to  an  assembly  in  Nottingham  Place,  but 
Mrs.  Sharpe  (a  most  amiable  woman)  frightened  him  by 
declaring  he  should  dance  with  her  if  he  did. 

What  the  friendships  of  dissipated  women  are,  Mrs. 
R.  H.'s  going  to  a  ball,  while  poor  H.  T.  was  dying, 
sufficiently  proves.  I  remember  with  satisfaction  that 
I  saw  her,  and  shook  hands  with  her,  at  the  November 
ball.  Indeed  she  had  a  heart ;  and  I  can't  help  recol- 
lecting that  when  I  had  the  scarlet  fever  she  called  on 
me  every  day,  regardless  of  danger,  and  sat  at  the 
foot  of  my  bed.  Besides,  she  was  the  friend  of  twenty 
years,  and  companion  of  my  childhood,  and  I  feel  the 
older  I  grow  the  more  tenderly  I  cling  to  the  scenes,  and 
recollections,  and  companions,  of  my  early  hours.  When 
I  now  look  at  Mr.  Bruckner's  black  cap,  my  memory  gets 
astride  on  the  tassel  of  it,  and  off  she  gallops  at  a  very 
pleasant  rate  ;  wooden  desks,  green  bags,  blotted  books, 
inked  hands,  faces,  and  gowns,  rise  in  array  before  me. 
I  see  Mrs.  Beecroft  (Miss  Dixon,  I  should  say)  with  her 
plump,  good-humoured  face,  laughing  till  she  loses  her 
eyes,  and  shakes  the  whole  form  ;  but  I  must  own,  the 
most  welcome  objects  that  the  hoofs  of  memory's  hobby- 
horse kick  up,  are  the  great  B.'s,  or  bons  on  my  exercises ! 


OPIE'S    STUDIO  223 

I  do  not  choose  to  remember  how  often  I  was  marked 
for  being  idle.  ...  So  you  have  had  risks.  I  am  glad 
they  are  over.  Mrs.  Adair  called  on  me  this  morning, 
and  she  tells  me  that  Charles  Harvey  was  terribly  alarmed 
after  he  had  committed  Col.  Montgomery.  A  fine  idea 
this  gives  one  of  the  state  of  a  town,  where  a-  man  is 
alarmed  at  having  done  his  duty  ! 

I  am  very  much  afraid  my  spouse  will  not  live  long  ; 
he  has  gotten  a  fit  of  tidyness  on  him  ;  and  yesterday 
evening  and  this  evening  he  has  employed  himself  in 
putting  his  painting-room  to  rights.  This  confirms  what 
I  said  to  him  the  other  day  ;  that  almost  every  man  was 
beau  and  sloven,  at  some  time  of  his  life.  Charles  Fox 
once  wore  pink  heels  ;  now  he  has  an  unpowdered  crop. 
And  I  expect  that  as  my  husband  has  been  a  sloven 
hitherto,  he  will  be  a  beau  in  future  ;  for  he  is  so  pleased 
with  his  handywork,  and  capers  about,  and  says, 
•"  Look  there  !  how  neat !  and  how  prettily  I  have 
disposed  the  things  !  Did  you  ever  see  the  like  ?  " 
Certainly  I  never  did  where  he  was  before.  Oh  !  he 
will  certainly  be  a  beau  in  time.  Past  ten  o'clock  !  I 
must  now  say  farewell ;  but  let  me  own  that  I  missed 
you  terribly  when  I  was  ill.  I  have  no  female  friend 
and  neighbour  ;  and  men  are  not  the  thing  on  such 
occasions.  Besides,  you  on  all  occasions  would  be  the 
female  neighbour  I  should  choose.  Love  to  your  spouse. 
Write  soon,  and  God  bless  you. 

Amelia  Opie  to  (?)  Dr.  Alder  son 

FIRST    CONSUL   BUONAPARTE 

1802. 

We  had  now  been  several  days  in  Paris,  and  yet  we 
had  not  seen  the  First  Consul !  I  own  that  my  impa- 


224  AMELIA    OPIE 

tience  to  see  him  had  been  abated,  by  the  growing 
conviction  which  I  felt  of  the  possible  hollowness  of 
the  idol  so  long  exalted. 

But  still  we  were  desirous  of  beholding  him  ;  and 
I  was  glad  when  we  received  a  letter  from  our  obliging 
acquaintance,  Count  de  Lastergrie,  informing  us  that 
Buonaparte  would  review  the  troops  on  such  a  day  on 
the  Place  du  Carousel,  and  that  he  had  procured  a  window 
for  us,  whence  we  should  be  able  to  see  it  to  advantage. 
But,  on  account  of  my  short-sightedness,  I  was  still 
more  glad  when  our  friend  Le  Masquerier  (a  very 
successful  young  English  painter)  informed  us  that 
he  had  the  promise  of  a  window  for  my  husband  and 
myself  in  an  apartment  on  the  ground-floor  of  the 
Tuileries,  whence  we  should  be  able  to  have  a  near 
view  of  Buonaparte  : — our  friends,  therefore,  profited 
by  M.  de  Lastergrie's  kindness,  and  we  went  to  the 
palace.  As  the  time  of  seeing  the  First  Consul  drew 
nigh,  I  was  pleased  to  feel  all  my  original  impressions 
in  his  favour  return.  This  might  be  a  weakness  in 
me,  but  it  was,  I  hope,  excusable ;  and  our  sense 
of  his  greatness  and  importance  was,  as  my  husband 
observed,  heightened  by  seeing  the  great  man  of  our 
own  country — he  who  was  there  a  sight  himself  to 
many — cross  the  Place  du  Carousel,  with  his  wife  on 
his  arm,  going,  as  we  believed,  to  gaze,  like  us,  on  at 
least  a  more  fortunate  man  than  himself — for  at 
that  time  Charles  James  Fox  had  not  seen  Napoleon 
Buonaparte. 

The  door  which  opened  into  the  hall  of  the  palace  was 
shut,  but,  after  some  persuasion,  I  prevailed  on  the 
attendant  to  open  it ;  and  he  said  he  would  keep  it  open 
till  the  First  Consul  had  mounted  his  horse,  if  I  would 


BUONAPARTE  225 

engage  that  we  would  all  of  us  stand  upon  the  threshold, 
and  not  once  venture  beyond  it. 

With  these  conditions  we  promised  to  comply  ;  and, 
full  of  eager  expectation,  I  stationed  myself  where  I 
could  command  the  white  marble  stairs  of  the  palace — 
those  steps  once  stained  with  the  blood  of  the  faithful 
Swiss  Guards,  and  on  which  I  now  expected  to  behold 
the  "  Pacificator,"  as  he  was  called  by  the  people  and 
his  friends — the  hero  of  Lodi.  Just  before  the  review  was 
expected  to  begin,  we  saw  several  officers  in  gorgeous 
uniforms  ascend  the  stairs,  one  of  whom,  whose  helmet 
seemed  entirely  of  gold,  was,  as  I  was  told,  Eugene  de 
Beauharnais.  A  few  minutes  afterwards  there  was  a 
rush  of  officers  down  the  stairs,  and  amongst  them  I 
saw  a  short  pale  man,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  who,  as  I 
thought,  resembled  Lord  Erskine,  in  profile,  but,  though 
my  friend  said  in  a  whisper,  "  C'est  lui,"  I  did  not  com- 
prehend that  I  beheld  Buonaparte,  till  I  saw  him  stand 
alone  at  the  gate.  In  another  moment  he  was  on  his 
horse,  and  rode  slowly  past  the  window  ;  while  I,  with 
every  nerve  trembling  with  strong  emotion,  gazed  on 
him  intently  ;  endeavouring  to  commit  each  expressive, 
sharply  chiselled  feature  to  memory  ;  contrasting  also, 
with  admiring  observation,  his  small  simple  hat,  adorned 
with  nothing  but  a  little  tri-coloured  cockade,  and  his 
blue  coat,  guiltless  of  gold  embroidery,  with  the  splendid 
head  adornings  and  dresses  of  the  officers  who  followed 
him. 

A  second  time  he  slowly  passed  the  window  ;  then, 
setting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  rode  amongst  the  ranks, 
where  some  faint  huzzas  greeted  him  from  the  crowd 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Place  du  Carousel.  At 
length  he  took  his  station  before  the  palace,  and  as  we 

15 


226  AMELIA    OPIE 

looked  at  him  out  of  the  window,  we  had  a  very  perfect 
view  of  him  for  nearly  three  quarters  of  an  hour.  I 
thought,  but  perhaps  it  was  fancy,  that  the  countenance 
of  Buonaparte  was  lighted  up  with  peculiar  pleasure  as 
the  corps  d'6lite,  wearing  some  mark  of  distinction, 
denied  before  him,  bringing  up  the  rear — that  fine, 
gallant  corps,  which,  as  we  are  told,  he  had  so  often 
led  on  to  victory  ;  but  this  might  be  my  fancy.  Once 
we  saw  him  speak,  as  he  took  off  his  hat  to  remove  the 
hair  from  his  heated  forehead,  and  this  gave  us  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  his  front  face,  and  his  features 
in  action.  Soon  after,  we  saw  him  give  a  sword  of 
honour  to  one  of  the  soldiers  ;  and  he  received  a  petition 
which  an  old  woman  presented  to  him  ;  but  he  gave  it 
unread  to  some  one  near  him.  At  length  the  review 
ended  ;  too  soon  for  me.  The  Consul  sprang  from  his 
horse — we  threw  open  our  door  again,  and,  as  he  slowly 
reascended  the  stairs,  we  saw  him  very  near  us,  and 
in  full  face  again,  while  his  bright,  restless,  expressive, 
and,  as  we  fancied,  dark  blue  eyes,  beaming  from  under 
long  black  eyelashes,  glowed  over  us  with  a  scrutinising 
but  complacent  look  ;  and  thus  ended,  and  was  com- 
pleted, the  pleasure  of  the  spectacle. 

I  could  not  speak  ;  I  had  worked  myself  up  to  all 
my  former  enthusiasm  for  Buonaparte  ;  and  my  frame 
still  shook  with  the  excitement  1  had  undergone.  The 
next  day  sobered  me  again,  however,  but  not  much,  as 
will  be  soon  seen. 

The  day  after  the  review,  our  accomplished  country- 
woman Maria  Cosway,  took  the  President  of  the  Royal 
Academy,  Benjamin  West,  and  ourselves,  on  a  round 
of  picture-seeing  ;  and  at  length  we  proceeded  to  the 
residence  of  a  gentleman,  who  was,  I  concluded,  only 


MADAME  BUONAPARTE  MERE     227 

a  picture  dealer,  or  one  of  the  many  nouveaux  riches  who 
had  fine  collections  ;  because,  whenever  she  spoke  of 
him,  Maria  Cosway  called  him  nothing  but  "  Fesch." 
We  stopped  at  the  door  of  a  very  splendid  Chaussee 
d' An  tin,  and  were  met  at  the  top  of  a  magnificent 
flight  of  stairs  by  a  gentleman  in  the  garb  of  an 
ecclesiastic.  His  hair  was  powdered,  and  he  wore 
it  in  a  full  round  curl  behind,  after  the  fashion  of  an 
abbe  ;  his  coat  was  black,  but  his  stockings  were  of 
bright  purple  ;  his  shoe-  and  knee-buckles  were  of  gold  ; 
round  his  neck  he  wore  a  glossy  white  silk  handkerchief, 
from  under  which  peeped  forth  a  costly  gold  crucifix. 
His  countenance  was  pleasing,  his  complexion  un- 
commonly blooming,  his  manners  courteous,  and  his 
age  (as  I  afterwards  learned)  was  thirty-nine.  This 
gentleman  was  the  "  Fesch  "  we  came  to  visit;  but  I 
soon  discovered  that  though  he  lived  in  the  house,  it  was 
not  his  own  ;  for  Maria  Cosway  was  summoned  into  an 
adjoining  room,  where  I  overheard  her  conversing  with 
a  female ;  and  when  she  returned  she  told  us  that 
Madame  Buonaparte  Mere  (as  she  was  called  to  dis- 
tinguish her  from  her  daughter-in-law),  the  mistress 
of  the  hotel,  was  very  sorry  that  she  could  not  see  us, 
but  that  she  was  so  unwell,  she  was  obliged  to  keep 
her  bed,  and  could  not  receive  strangers.  So,  then  ! 
we  were  in  the  house  of  Letitia  Buonaparte,  and  the 
mother  of  Napoleon  !  and  in  the  next  room  to  her,  but 
could  not  see  her  !  How  unfortunate  !  However,  I  was 
sure  I  had  heard  her  voice.  I  now  supposed  that 
"  Fesch  "  was  her  spiritual  director,  and  believed  his 
well  studied  dress,  si  bien  soignee,  was  a  necessary  dis- 
tinction, as  he  belonged  to  the  mother  of  the  First 
Consul. 


228  AMELIA    OPIE 

He  seemed  a  merry,  as  well  as  a  courteous  man  ; 
and  once  he  took  Maria  Cosway  aside,  and  showed  her 
a  letter  that  he  had  only  just  received,  which,  to  judge 
from  the  hearty  laugh  of  "  Fesch,"  and  the  answering 
smiles  of  the  lady,  gave  them  excessive  pleasure.  By 
and  by,  however,  I  heard  and  observed  many  things 
which  made  me  think  that  "  Fesch  "  was  more  than  I 
apprehended  him  to  be.  I  therefore  watched  for  an 
opportunity  to  ask  the  President  who  this  obliging 

person  was "  What !  "  cried  he,  "  do  you  not  know 

that  he  is  the  Archbishop  of  Lyons,  the  uncle  of  Buona- 
parte ?  I  was  astonished  !  What !  the  person  so 
familiarly  spoken  of  as  "  Fesch,"  could  be  indeed 
du  sang  of  the  Buonapartes,  and  the  First  Consul's 
uncle  !  How  my  respect  for  him  increased  when  I  heard 
this  !  How  interesting  became  his  every  look  and 
word  ;  and  how  grateful  I  felt  for  his  obliging  attention 
to  us  ! 

While  we  were  looking  at  the  pictures,  his  niece,  the 
wife  of  Murat,  drove  to  the  door  ;  and  I  saw  the  top  of  her 
cap  as  she  alighted,  but  no  more,  as  she  went  immediately 
to  her  mother's  bedside. 

After  devoting  to  us  at  least  two  hours,  the  Arch- 
bishop conducted  us  down  the  noble  staircase,  to  the 
beautiful  hall  of  entrance,  and  courteously  dismissed 
us.  My  companions  instantly  went  away,  but  I  lingered 
behind  ;  for  I  had  caught  a  view  of  a  colossal  bust  of 
Buonaparte  in  a  helmet,  which  stood  on  a  table,  and  I 
remained  gazing  on  it,  forgetful  of  all  but  itself.  Yes  ! 
there  were  those  finely  cut  features,  that  coupe  de 
menton  a  1'Apollon  !  and,  though  I  thought  the  likeness 
a  flattered  one,  I  contemplated  it  with  great  pleasure, 
and  was  passing  my  hand  admiringly  over  the  salient 


THE    FIRST    CONSUL'S    BUST  229 

chin,  when  I  heard  a  sort  of  suppressed  laugh,  and, 
turning  round,  saw  the  Archbishop  observing  me,  and 
instantly,  covered  with  confusion,  I  ran  out  of  the  house. 
I  found  Maria  Cosway  explaining  what  the  letter  was 
which  had  given  "  Fesch  "  and  her  such  evident  satis- 
faction. It  was  nothing  less  than  a  letter  from  Rome, 
informing  him  that  he  would  probably  be  put  in  nomina- 
tion for  the  next  cardinal's  hat. 

How  soon  he  was  nominated  I  cannot  remember,  but 
it  is  now  many  years  since  the  blooming  ecclesiastic  of 
1802  exchanged  his  purple  for  scarlet  stockings,  his 
mitre  for  a  red  hat,  and  his  title  of  Archbishop  of  Lyons 
for  that  of  Cardinal  Fesch. 


LUCY  AIKIN   (1781-1864) 

DAUGHTER  of  John  Aikiii,  M.D.  Miss  Aikin  was  the  author 
of  several  books,  one  of  which,  "  Memoirs  of  the  Courts  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  James  I,  and  of  Charles  I,"  was  warmly 
praised  by  Macaulay.  She  also  wrote  a  "Life  of  Addison," 
and  a  memoir  of  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Barbauld,  herself  a  well- 
known  author. 

To  Mrs.  Taylor 

WOMEN'S  RIGHTS 

STOKE  NEWINGTON,  January  27,  1803. 
...  I  am  full  of  plans  and  projects  for  the  ensuing 
spring,  when  it  arrives  ;  sometimes  I  dream  of  another 
visit  to  the  Welsh  mountains — then  my  fancy  rambles 
to  the  Highlands  of  Scotland ;  but  one  of  the  most 
agreeable  of  my  anticipations,  and  that  which  is  most 
likely  to  be  realised,  is  another  journey  to  dear  old 


230  LUCY    AIKIN 

Norwich ;  which  I  need  not  assure  you  that  I  shall 
enjoy  as  much  as  the  last ;  and  more  I  cannot  say.  Yes, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Taylor,  the  longer  I  live  the  more  am  I 
convinced  that  connections  formed  in  early  childhood 
are  the  strongest,  the  most  durable,  and  the  most 
delightful  of  all.  The  image  of  the  friend  of  infancy  is 
associated  with  a  thousand  endearing  recollections  of 
those  days  of  careless,  but  unclouded  happiness,  that 
pass  so  swiftly,  never  to  return.  The  friend  of  riper 
youth  is  ever  connected  in  our  memory  with  some  of 
those  cares,  those  passions,  those  severe  pains  and  lively 
pleasures  that  give  to  this  period  a  more  exquisite  flavour 
of  bitter  and  sweet  than  to  the  preceding,  or  perhaps 
any  subsequent  portion  of  life.  When  I  feel  my  mind 
agitated  by  the  too  vivid  ideas  of  scenes  that  have 
passed  more  recently,  I  think  of  Norfolk,  and  the  careless 
days  spent  among  my  early  friends,  and  all  is  calm 
again.  Of  what  other  place  can  I  think  with  unmingled 
pleasure,  with  perfect  satisfaction  ?  But  what  has 
enticed  my  pen  into  this  long  strain  of  sentimental 
reflection  ?  I  fear  you  will  not  much  thank  me  for 
anything  so  sombre.  .  .  . 

There  is  a  singular  work  lately  published,  of  which 
I  should  much  like  to  hear  your  opinion,  Mary  Hayes's 
"Female  Biography."  She  is  a  great  disciple  of  Mrs. 
Godwin,  you  know,  and  a  zealous  stickler  for  the  equal 
rights  and  equal  talents  of  our  sex  with  the  other ;  but, 
alas,  though  I  would  not  so  much  as  whisper  this  to 
the  pretended  lords  of  the  creation — 

Her  arguments  directly  tend 
Against  the  cause  she  would  defend. 

At  the  same  time  that  she  attempts  to  make  us  despise 


WOMEN'S    RIGHTS  231 

the  frivolous  rivalry  of  beauty  and  fashion,  she  holds 
forth  such  tremendous  examples  of  the  excesses  of  more 
energetic  characters,  that  one  is  much  inclined  to 
imitate  those  quiet,  good  folks  who  bless  God  they  are  no 
geniuses.  However,  a  general  biography  is  something 
like  a  great  London  rout :  everybody  is  there,  good,  bad, 
and  indifferent,  veritable  and  not  veritable,  so  that  a 
squeamish  lady  scarcely  knows  whom  she  may  venture 
to  speak  to.  Alas,  alas  !  though  Miss  Hayes  has  wisely 
addressed  herself  to  the  ladies  alone,  I  am  afraid  the 
gentlemen  will  get  a  peep  at  her  book  and  repeat  with 
tenfold  energy  that  women  have  no  business  with  any- 
thing but  nursing  children  and  mending  stockings.  I 
do  not  think  her  book  is  written  quite  in  an  edifying 
manner  either — the  morals  are  too  French  for  my 
taste. 

But  what  are  we  to  think  of  Madame  de  StaePs  new 
novel,1  that  all  Paris,  all  Geneva,  and  all  London  is 
reading  ?  I  hear  Rousseau  is  revived  in  her,  with  all  his 
"  virtue  in  words  and  vice  in  actions,"  and  all  his 
dangerous  eloquence.  I  have  not  read  the  book  yet,  but 
we  voted  it  into  a  lady's  book  society  here,  and  had 
afterwards  some  doubts  whether  it  ought  to  be  circu- 
lated. My  mother  wickedly  proposed  that  all  works- 
written  by  ladies  should  be  carefully  examined  by  a  com- 
mittee before  they  are  admitted  into  the  society.  And 
now  that  I  have  mentioned  our  society,  which  is  a  great 
hobby-horse  with  my  aunt  Barbauld  and  me,  I  must  beg 
your  congratulations  on  our  spirit  in  setting  up  an 
institution  into  which  not  a  single  man  is  admitted, 
even  to  keep  the  accounts.  I  must  indeed  whisper  in 
your  ear  that  it  is  no  very  easy  matter  to  get  the  ladies 
1  Apparently  "  Delphine,"  1802. 


232  LUCY    AIKIN 

to  suspend  their  dissertations  on  new  plays  and  new 
fashions  to  discuss  the  merits  of  books,  and  that  some- 
times it  is  rather  difficult  for  the  president,  treasurer, 
and  secretary,  calling  all  at  once  to  order,  to  obtain  a 
hearing.  But  our  meetings  are  not  the  less  amusing  for 
this.  .  .  . 

Our  fireside  circle  form  in  cordial  remembrance  with 
Your  very  affectionate 

L.  AIKIN. 


Lucy  Aiken  to  Mrs.  Aiken 

TRAFALGAR 

STOKE  NEWINGTON,  November  1805. 

We  do  grumble  a  little,  my  dear  mother,  I  assure 
you,  at  being  so  long  without  you  ;  but  knowing  how 
very  much  you  are  wanted  where  you  are,  we  think  it 
would  be  wrong  to  press  your  return  sooner  than  the 
day  you  mention,  against  which  time  I  will  take  care  to 
have  all  preparations  made.  Well  !  what  do  you  all 
say  to  this  glorious,  dear-bought  victory  ?  Twenty 
ships  for  a  hero  !  At  this  rate  I  think  our  enemies  would 
be  beggared  first.  But  never  was  there  a  more  affecting 
mixture  of  feelings.  Even  the  hard-hearted  under- 
writers assembled  at  Lloyds  to  hear  the  news  could  not 
stand  it :  when  the  death  of  Nelson  was  proclaimed,  they 
one  and  all  burst  into  tears.  It  is  thought  that  the 
Londoners  will  put  on  mourning  without  any  public 
orders.  The  illumination  of  the  public  offices  last  night 
was  splendid,  but  many  private  streets  were  not  lighted 
up  at  all,  so  much  did  sorrow  prevail  over  triumph. 
The  windows,  it  is  said,  were  broken,  and  some  of  the  mob 


THE    DEATH    OF    NELSON  233 

cried  out,  "  What !  light  up  because  Nelson  is  killed  ?  " 
Nobody  can,  or  ought  to  pity  him,  however,  for  what 
hero  ever  died  a  death  more  glorious  ?  They  say  that 
he  saw  fifteen  ships  strike  before  he  fell. 


Lucy  Aiken  to  Mrs.  Taylor 

NELSON'S  FUNERAL 

•STOKE  NEWINGTON,  July  1806. 

...  I  have  of  late  been  quite  stout,  and,  resolving 
to  enjoy  the  full  privileges  of  a  person  in  health,  I  went, 
on  New  Year's  day,  to  visit  my  friend  Mrs.  Carr,  whom 
I  accompanied  to  some  London  parties.  The  most 
piquant  of  these  was  a  dinner  at  Hoppner's,  where  were, 
besides  Hoppner  himself,  who  has  more  wit  than  almost 
any  man,  "Memory"  Rogers,  and  "Anacreon"  Moore, 
otherwise  "  Little,"  who  is  an  Irishman,  and  told  us  some 
Irish  stories  with  infinite  humour.  In  the  afternoon 
came  the  Opies  ;  presently  Mrs.  Opie  and  Moore  sat 
down  to  the  instrument.  Mrs.  Opie  was  not  in  voice, 
but  Anacreon !  Upon  my  word,  he  gave  me  new  ideas 
of  the  power  of  harmony.  He  sung  us  some  of  his  own 
sweet  little  songs,  set  to  his  own  music,  and  rendered 
doubly  touching  by  a  voice  the  most  sweet,  and  utter- 
ance the  most  articulate,  and  expression  the  most  deep 
and  varied,  that  I  ever  witnessed.  No  wonder  this  little 
man  is  a  pet  with  duchesses  !  What  can  be  better  fitted 
for  a  plaything  of  the  great  than  a  ruddy,  joyous,  laughing 
young  Irishman,  poor  but  not  humble,  a  wit,  poet,  and 
musician,  who  is  willing  to  devote  his  charming  talents 
to  their  entertainment  for  the  sake  of  being  admitted  to 
their  tables,  and  honoured  with  their  familiarity  ? 


234  LUCY    AIKIN 

As  I  was  determined  to  "  exert  my  energies,"  I  readily 
accompanied  my  friends  on  board  Mr.  W.  Carr's  ship, 
whence  we  saw  Nelson's  body  carried  in  procession  up 
the  river.  The  ships  with  their  lowered  flags,  the  dark 
boats  of  the  river  fencibles,  the  magnificent  barges  of 
his  Majesty,  and  the  City  companies,  and,  above  all,  the 
mournful  notes  of  distant  music,  and  the  deep  sound  of 
the  single  minute-gun,  the  smoke  of  which  floated 
heavily  along  the  surface  of  the  river, — conspired  to  form 
a  solemn,  sober,  and  appropriate  pomp,  which  I  found 
awfully  affecting.  It  did  but  increase  my  eagerness 
to  witness  the  closing  scene  of  this  great  pageant  exhibited 
the  next  day  at  St.  Paul's.  Richard,  who  was  our 
active  and  attentive  squire,  will  probably  have  given 
you  an  account  of  our  adventures  on  this  occasion,  and 
the  order  of  procession  you  would  see  in  the  papers  ; 
but  perhaps  you  might  not  particularly  attend  to  a 
circumstance  which  struck  me  most  forcibly — the 
union  of  all  ranks,  from  the  heir-apparent  to  the  common 
sailor,  in  doing  honour  to  the  departed  hero.  In  fact, 
the  royal  band  of  brothers,  with  their  stately  figures, 
splendid  uniforms,  and  sober  and  majestic  deportment, 
roused,  even  in  me,  a  transient  emotion  of  loyalty  ;  but 
when  the  noble  Highlanders  and  other  regiments  marched 
in  who  vanquished  Buonaparte's  Invincibles  in  Egypt, 
and,  reversing  their  arms,  stood  hiding  their  faces  with 
every  mark  of  heartfelt  sorrow,  and  especially  when  the 
victorious  captains  of  Trafalgar  showed  their  weather- 
beaten  and  undaunted  fronts,  following  the  bier  in  silent, 
mournful  state,  and  when,  at  length,  the  gallant  tars 
appeared  bearing  in  their  hands  the  tattered  and  blood- 
stained colours  of  the  Victory — and  I  saw  one  of  the  poor 
fellows  wiping  his  eyes  by  stealth  on  the  end  of  the  flag 


NELSON'S    FUNERAL  235 

he  was  holding  up — I  cannot  express  to  you  all  the 
proud,  heroic,  patriotic  feelings  that  took  possession  of 
my  heart,  and  made  tears  a  privilege  and  luxury.  No, 
on  that  day  an  Englishman  could  not  despair  of  his 
country  !  And  now,  after  this  taste  of  the  gaieties  and 
glories  of  the  great  city,  I  am  returned  to  my  snug  little 
home,  which  is  at  present,  however,  less  snug  than 
usual.  The  Estlins  of  Bristol  are  on  a  visit  to  the 
Barbaulds,  and  we  meet  almost  daily.  .  .  .  Miss  Edge- 
worth's  "  Leonora "  is  full  of  wit,  observation,  and 
good  sense  :  if  it  falls  in  your  way  it  will  entertain  you 
much.  I  will  write  to  Sally  l  at  my  first  leisure  interval ; 
but  when  that  will  arrive,  I  cannot  guess.  Melancholy 
indeed  is  the  face  of  public  affairs  ;  sometimes  it  infects 
me  with  gloom  ;  but  so  much  more  to  us  is  our  own 
fireside  than  all  the  world  besides,  that  whilst  we  see 
happy  faces  there,  we  are  half -inclined  to  say,  "  Let 
the  world  wag  !  "  When  I  wish  to  cloak  indifference 
in  philosophy,  I  think  how  good  comes  out  of  evil,  and 
evil  out  of  good,  and  on  the  whole  how  impossible  it  is 
to  tell  which  is  which.  Pray  remember  me  most  kindly 
to  the  little  circle  respecting  whom  I  can  never  be  in- 
different, including  therein  Mrs.  Enfield,  from  whom 
my  mother  has  just  had  a  very  affectionate  letter,  and 
Eliza.  We  are  all  quite  well  here  ;  my  Aunt  Barbauld 
hears  as  quick  as  ever.  Richard  tells  me  that  we  are  to 
see  his  father  soon,  at  which  I  rejoice  not  a  little,  for 
after  all,  what  pen  can  convey  a  tenth  part  of  what 
one,  that  is  /,  wish  to  say  to  my  friends  ?  For  instance, 
I  have  now  written  almost  a  pamphlet,  and  yet  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  but  just  got  into  chat  with  you.  I  have 
scarce  left  room  to  say,  my  best  of  friends,  Adieu. 
1  Miss  Sarah  Taylor,  afterwards  Mrs.  John  Austin. 


236  LUCY    AIKIN 

Lucy  Aikin  to  Edmund  Aiken 

DINING   WITH    SCOTT 

STOKE  NEWINGTON,  May  9,  1815. 

DEAR  EDMUND, — I  hope  you  will  allow  that  every- 
body loves  ten  times  better  to  receive  what  you  call 
a  gossiping  letter  than  to  write  one — judge,  then,  by 
the  size  of  paper  I  have  taken  to  fill,  how  welcome  are 
your  epistles  to  me  !  .  .  . 

Well  !  the  beginning  of  last  week  I  was,  as  I  told 
you,  in  town.  An  evening  party  on  Monday  at  the 

N 's,  rather  too  grave  and  Presbyterian  ;  but  to  make 

amends  we  had  an  alderman,  a  person  excellent  in  his 
way,  thinner  indeed  than  alderman  beseems  (but  his 
wife  atones  for  that),  and  he  had  a  red  face,  hair 
powdered  snow-white,  and  one  of  those  long,  foolish 
noses  that  look  as  if  they  thrust  themselves  into  every- 
thing. Then,  ye  gods  !  he  is  musical ;  summoned  Miss 

N to  the  instrument  by  touching  a  few  call-notes, 

and  would  fain  have  .sung  with  her,  but  wicked  N 

had  left  her  duets  behind,  and  would  not  patronise  his 
proposal  of  taking  two-thirds  of  a  glee  for  three  voices, 
so,  to  my  unspeakable  mortification,  he  had  no  oppor- 
tunity of  exhibiting.  .  .  .  Have  I  got  thus  far  in  my 
letter  and  said  nothing  of  last  Friday  !  It  is  a  great 
proof  of  my  methodical  and  chronological  habits  of 
writing  that  I  did  not  jump  to  this  period  of  my  history 
in  the  first  paragraph.  Know,  that  on  Thursday  last 
arrived  an  invitation  from  the  Carrs  to  my  father  and 
my  aunt  to  dine  with  them  the  next  day,  to  meet  Walter 
Scott — apologies  at  the  same  time  that  their  table  would 
not  admit  us  all.  Well  !  nothing  could  persuade  my 
father  to  go,  so  my  aunt  said  she  would  take  me  instead, 


THE    DINNER    PARTY  237 

and  I  had  not  the  grace  to  say  no.  A  charming  day  we 
had.  I  did  not  indeed  see  much  of  the  great  lion,  for 
we  were  fourteen  at  dinner,  of  whom  about  half  were 
constantly  talking,  and  neither  at  table  nor  after  was  I 
very  near  him  ;  but  he  was  delighted  to  see  my  aunt, 
and  paid  her  great  attention,  which  I  was  very  glad  of. 
He  told  her  that  the  "Tramp,  tramp,"  "Splash, 
splash,"  of  Taylor's  "  Lenora,"  which  she. had  carried 
into  Scotland  to  Dugald  Stewart  many  years  ago,  was 
what  made  him  a  poet.  I  heard  him  tell  a  story  or  two 
with  a  dry  kind  of  humour,  for  which  he  is  distinguished  ; 
and  though  he  speaks  very  broad  Scotch,  he  is  a  heavy- 
looking  man,  and  has  little  the  air  of  a  gentleman.  I  was 
much  pleased  with  him — he  is  lively,  spirited,  and  quite 
above  all  affectation.  He  had  with  him  his  daughter,  a 
girl  of  fifteen,  the  most  naive  child  of  nature  I  ever  saw  ; 
her  little  Scotch  phrases  charmed  us  all,  and  her  Scotch 
songs  still  more.  Her  father  is  a  happy  minstrel  to  have 
such  a  lassie  to  sing  old  ballads  to  him,  which  she  often 
does  by  the  hour  together,  for  he  is  not  satisfied  with  a 
verse  or  two,  but  chooses  to  have  fit  the  first,  second, 
and  third.  He  made  her  sing  us  a  ditty  about  a  Border 
reiver  who  was  to  be  hanged  for  stealing  the  bishop's 
mare,  and  who  dies  with  the  injunction  to  his  comrades  : 

If  e'er  ye  find  the  bishop's  cloak, 
Ye'll  raak'  it  shorter  by  the  hood. 

She  also  sung  us  a  lullaby  in  Gaelic — very  striking 
novelties  both,  in  a  polished  London  party.  Nobody 
could  help  calling  this  charming  girl  pretty,  though  all 
allowed  her  features  were  not  good,  and  we  thought 
her  not  unlike  her  father's  own  sweet  Ellen.  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  be  placed  at  dinner  between  Mr.  Whishaw 


238  LUCY    AIKIN 

and  Sotheby,  better  known  by  Wieland's  "  Oberon  "  than 
by  his  own  "Saul."  He  is  a  lively,  pleasant,  elderly 
man ;  his  manners  of  the  old  school  of  gallantry,  which  we 
women  must  ever  like.  A  lady  next  him  asked  him  if  he 
did  not  think  we  could  see  by  Mr.  Scott's  countenance,  if 
' '  Waverley  "  were  mentioned,  whether  he  was  the  author  ? 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr. ,  "  we  will  try."     So  he 

called  out  from  the  bottom  of  the  table  to  the  top,  "  Mr. 
Scott,  I  have  heard  there  is  a  new  novel  coming  out  by 
the  author  of  '  Waverley ' ;  have  you  heard  of  it  ?  "  "I 
have,"  said  the  minstrel,  "  and  I  believe  it."  He 
answered  very  steadily,  and  everybody  cried  out  directly, 
"  O,  I  am  glad  of  it !  "  "  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Whishaw,  "  I 
am  a  great  admirer  of  these  novels  "  ;  and  we  began  to 
discuss  which  was  the  best  of  the  two ;  but  Scott  kept 
out  of  this  debate,  and  had  not  the  assurance  to  say  any 
handsome  things  of  the  works,  though  he  is  not  the 
author — O  no  !  for  he  denies  them.1 

Mr.  Whishaw  was  lamenting  that  his  friend  Dumont 
is  returning  to  Geneva  ;  "  but  he  has  the  maladie  du 
pays,  like  all  Swiss.  Talleyrand  says  that  to  a  Genevois, 
Geneva  is  la  cinquieme  pavtie  du  monde,  and  Dumont 
has  a  prospect  of  being  Secretary  of  State,  with  a  salary 
of  £$o  per  annum.  And  they  do  not  give  cabinet  dinners 
there,  but  gouters."  "  Of  what  ?  "  "  Peach  tart,  I 
suppose."  He  asked  me  what  was  become  of  that 
Roscoe  who  was  under  Smyth  at  Cambridge  some 
years  ago. — A  pretty,  romantic  young  man,  and  the 
gods  had  made  him  poetical.  There  were  verses  to  a 

i  Of  Scott's  novels  "Waverley,"  1814,  and  "  Guy  Mannering," 
1815,  only  had  been  published  at  this  date  :  he  had  not  yet  de- 
clared himself  as  their  author  ;  his  reputation,  therefore,  rested 
on  his  work  as  a  poet  and  essayist. 


"  WAVERLEY  "  239 

lily  by  moonlight !  "  O,"  said  I,  "  he  is  a  steady  banker 
now."  "  A  steady  banker  ?  "  "  Yes  ;  there  is  some- 
thing of  the  old  character  left,  certainly,  but  he  is  more 
a  man  of  the  world  than  he  was  then."  "  O,  of  course  ; 
a  banker  is  of  the  earth,  earthly."  I  greatly  doubt  whether 
the  lion  of  the  day  uttered  any  roarings  equal  to  these. 
But  the  latter  part  of  the  evening,  our  laughing  philo- 
sopher fell  in  love  with  the  little  Scotch  lassie,  and  only 
"  roared  like  any  sucking  dove."  .  .  . 

I  positively  must  chatter  no  longer,  I  am  so  busy 
to-day. 

Your  affectionate 

L.  AIKIN. 

Lucy  Aikin  to  Edmund  Aikin 

BATHING    AT    BRIGHTON 

STOKE  NEWINGTON,  July  1815. 

I  have  been  longing  to  hear  from  you,  my  dear 
Edmund,  for  a  great  while,  but  guessed  how  it  was  that 
you  deferred  writing.  At  last,  by  some  mistake  at  home 
about  the  time  of  my  return,  your  letter  was  sent  to 
Brighton  just  after  I  left  it ;  no  matter,  it  reached  me 
safe  at  last,  and  I  thank  you  very  much  for  all  its  contents, 
particularly  the  letter  to  Warwick,  of  which  the  P.S. 
is  certainly  very  curious. 

Well,  but  Brighton  ! — you  will  expect  to  hear  about 
it.  I,  for  my  part,  care  very  little  if  I  never  hear  of  it 
more  ;  it  is  a  most  stupid,  disagreeable  place,  but  has 
the  advantage  of  making  home  quite  a  paradise  in 
comparison.  I  saw  no  person  whatever  that  I  knew 

except  Mrs. and  her  family  ;    Mr. was  only 

once  there,  from  Saturday  night  to  Monday  morning,  so 


240  LUCY    AIKIN 

that  we  were  forced  to  put  up  with  petticoat  parties — 
things  which  in  the  long  run  rather  weary  me.  Nothing, 

however,    could    be    more    friendly    than    Mrs.    's 

attentions  to  me,  and  I  greatly  enjoyed  both  my  rides 
and  my  bathing,  for  which  F  am  also  somewhat  the 
better.  The  situation  of  Brighton  is  certainly  far  from 
beautiful — a  shingly  shore  without  sands  and  without 
rock,  except  a  bald,  low,  chalk  cliff  on  one  side — a  sea 
without  ships  and  land  without  trees  ;  but  it  must  be 
confessed  that  it  assembles  all  imaginable  conveniences 
for  summer  visitants :  lodgings  of  every  kind  and  price, 
horses,  chaises,  gigs,  sociables,  donkeys,  and  donkey- 
carts  to  hire  ;  excellent  shops,  libraries,  news-rooms,  etc. 
The  bathing,  however,  is  not  in  general  very  good  ; 
they  do  not  often  push  the  machines  far  enough  out  to 
treat  you  with  deep  water,  and  you,  or  rather  we  ladies, 
have  only  the  alternative  of  wading  in  over  sharp 
shingles,  and  then  sitting  down  to  be  knocked  over  and 
partially  wetted  by  a  wave,  or  to  be  carried,  as  I  saw 
a  gawky  girl,  between  two  bathing-women,  head  down- 
wards, heels  kicking  the  air,  red  dirty  legs  belonging  to 
ditto  completely  exposed,  and  the  patient  shrieking 
and  crying  like  a  pig  taken  to  the  slaughter — a  mode 
which  had  rather  too  much  the  appearance  of  a  penal 
ducking  to  suit  my  fancy.  Well — but  no  matter  for 
this  now  ;  I  am  at  home  and  found  everybody  well ; 

my  aunt  K mending.     Glad  they  were  to  see  me 

again,  for  you  may  believe  that  without  Arthur  and  us 
two,  the  house  would  seem  dull  enough  to  my  father 
and  mother.  I  was  also  glad  not  to  miss  more  of  Mr. 

W 's  company,  for  you  know  he  is  a  great  favourite 

of  mine.  ...  To  our  great  joy,  in  came  Mr.  Whishaw, 
and  knowing  that  Mr.  W wished  to  see  him,  we 


BATHING   AT    BRIGHTON  241 

sent  for  him.  Some  time  after,  my  Aunt  Barbauld 
dropped  in,  and  a  most  agreeable  chat  we  have  had. 
Mr.  Whishaw  read  to  us  an  agreeable  letter  from  Miss 
Edgeworth,  about  his  "LLife  of  Mungo  Park,"  with  a 

postscript  by  Mr.  E ,  who  is  very  ill  and  seemingly 

beginning  to  doat,  about  the  possibility  of  exploring 
Africa  in  balloons,  which,  he  says,  he  knows  the  art  of 
guiding — in  perfectly  calm  air.  .  .  . 

Mr.  W says  that  the  Duchess  of  Cumberland,  when 

she  comes  over,  will  probably  gain  great  influence  with 
the  Regent,  being  a  very  clever,  intriguing  woman, 
and  that  the  old  Queen  will  probably  be  soon  out  of  her 
way,  as  she  is  not  likely  to  live — a  hint  this  for  buying 
mourning  ! 

Good-bye.  Don't  let  it  be  nearly  so  long  before  you 
write  again.  My  father  and  mother  send  their  kind 
love. 

Your  ever  affectionate  sister, 

L.  A. 


Lucy  Aikin  to  Edmund  Aikin 

SEEING   QUEEN    CHARLOTTE 

STOKE  NEWINGTON,  November  1815. 

MY  DEAR  EDMUND, — I  am  glad  of  this  opportunity 
to  thank  you  for  your  letter  by  H.  K.,  and  to  tell  you 
how  glad  we  all  are  that  you  have  got  this  new  job.  .  .  . 
Benger  has  been  spending  part  of  two  days  with  us. 
She  is  pretty  well  for  one  who  will  never  let  herself 
alone,  and  full  of  curious  anecdote  as  usual.  Charley 
Wesley,  a  while  ago,  took  a  queer  very  fat  old  Mrs. 

S to  see  the  Queen  go  to  the  Drawing-room.     In 

16 


242  LUCY    AIKIN 

the  ante-chamber,  in  which  they  waited,  were  no  seats, 
and  the  fat  lady,  becoming  tired  of  standing,  at  last 
spread  her  handkerchief  on  the  floor,  and  seated  herself 
in  a  picturesque  manner  upon  it.  Charles,  being  a  great 
blunderer,  and  somewhat  wicked  besides,  gave  the 
alarm  several  times  that  the  Queen  was  coming,  and 

as  often  poor  Mrs.  S made  incredible  efforts  to  get 

up  and  see  her.  At  last,  he  had  cried  wolf  so  often 
that  she  did  not  heed  him,  and  when  the  Queen  came 
indeed  she  was  not  able,  with  the  help  of  all  his  tugging, 
to  rise  from  the  ground  till  her  Majesty  was  past ; 
and  one  end  of  her  hoop  was  all  that  blessed  the  eyes 
of  this  loyal  and  painstaking  subject.  To  complete 
the  misfortune,  she  was  kept  waiting  for  her  carriage, 
owing  to  Charles's  stupidity,  till  her  dinner  was  spoiled, 
and  the  friends  she  had  invited  to  eat  it  were  quite  out 
of  patience ;  and  to  mend  all,  this  rare  composition  of 
wit  and  goose  tells  the  whole  story  as  a  good  joke, 
mimicking  her  to  admiration.  .  .  . 

I  ought  to  tell  you  that  we  have  had  a  call  from  Mr. 
Rogers,  who  was  very  agreeable  and  entertaining  with 
his  accounts  of  Italy.  What  a  beau  King  Murat  is  ! 
The  morning  Mr.  Rogers  was  presented  to  him  he  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  a  large  room,  displaying  his 
fine  figure  in  a  Spanish  cloak,  hat,  and  feather,  yellow 
boots,  pink  pantaloons,  and  a  green  waistcoat  !  In 
the  evening  he  appears  in  a  simpler  costume,  but  still 
wearing  roses  on  his  shoes,  a  white  plume  in  his  hat, 
and  his  hair  prodigiously  curled  and  frizzed,  with  a 
long  love-lock  hanging  down  on  each  side.  He  does 
not  dress  above  five  times  a  day.  Then,  no  king  in 
Europe,  probably,  cuts  such  high  capers  in  the  dance — 
but  for  other  qualifications  for  reigning,  I  hear  nothing 


SAMUEL    ROGERS  243 

of  them.  Naples  is  beautiful,  says  Mr.  Rogers,  and 
the  Court  very  gay  and  pretty  ;  but,  after  all,  Florence 
is  the  place  one  longs  to  live  in.  No  city  of  its  size  has 
half  so  many  fine  domes  and  towers  ;  then  the  beautiful 
Arno  meets  your  eye  at  every  turn,  and  beyond  it  the 
finest  woods  and  distant  mountains.  His  descriptions 
quite  set  me  longing ;  such  glades  of  myrtle,  such  groves 
of  orange-trees,  stuck  as  full  of  fruit,  he  says,  as  the 
trees  you  see  sometimes  painted  by  a  child  !  .  .  . 

We  are  all  quite  well  here,  and  all  send  love  to  you. 
Your  affectionate  sister, 

L.  A. 


Lucy  Aikin  to  Edmund  Aikin 

THE    ETTRICK    SHEPHERD'S    DEBUT 

STOKE  NEWINGTON,  1817. 

DEAR  EDMUND, — I  must  give  you  an  anecdote  of 
lionising  which  I  have  just  heard.  Mrs.  Opie,  who  is 
still  in  London,  was  holding  one  of  her  usual  Sunday- 
morning  levees,  when  up  comes  her  footman,  much 
ruffled,  to  tell  her  that  a  man  in  a  smock  frock  was  below, 
who  wanted  to  speak  to  her — would  take  no  denial — 
could  not  be  got  away.  Down  she  goes  to  investigate 
the  matter.  The  rustic  advances,  nothing  abashed  : 
"  I  am  James  Hogg,  the  Ettrick  shepherd."  The  poet 
is  had  up  to  the  drawing-room,  smock  frock  and  all, 
and  introduced  to  everybody.  Presently  he  pulls  out 
a  paper — some  verses  which  he  had  written  that  morning 
and  would  read,  if  agreeable.  With  a  horrible  Scotch 
accent,  and  charity-boy  twang,  he  got  through  some 
staves,  nobody  understanding  a  line.  "Mr.  Hogg," 


244  LUCY    AIKIN 

says  Mrs.  Opie,  "  I  think,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  could 
do  more  justice  to  your  verses  than  yourself  "  ;  so 
takes  them  from  him,  and  with  her  charming  delivery, 
causes  them  to  be  voted  very  pretty.  On  enquiring, 
it  is  found  that  the  shepherd  is  on  a  visit  to  Lady 
Cork,  the  great  patroness  of  lions  (see  The  Twopenny 
Post-Bag) ;  is  exhibited,  and  has  doubtless,  since  his 
arrival,  merited  this  illustrious  protection,  by  ex- 
changing, for  an  habiliment  so  sweetly  rustic,  the  new 
green  coat,  pink  waistcoat,  and  fustian  small  clothes, 
in  which  such  a  worthy  would  naturally  make  a  debut 
in  the  great  city  !  As  for  "  Lalla  Rookh,"  it  is  pretty 
and  very  pretty  :  tender,  melodious,  and  adorned  ;  but 
my  aunt  Barbauld  says  'tis  my  flower-dish,  sweet  and 
gay,  and  tastefully  arranged,  but  the  flowers  do  not 
grow  there  :  they  are  picked  up  with  pains  here  and 
there.  He  has  thrown  an  infinite  quantity  of  oriental 
allusion  into  his  verse,  but  the  reader  sympathises  in 
some  degree  in  the  labour  of  the  writer — there  is  no 
general  interest,  no  entrainement — abundance  of  senti- 
mental beauty,  however,  as  well  as  descriptive,  some 
very  manly  lines  on  liberty,  etc.,  in  the  prose  some 
charming  banter  of  reviewers — on  the  whole,  I  hope  you 
will  read  it.  My  father  has  finished  the  writing  of  his 
Annual  Register  and  is  beginning  his  enlargement  of 
"  England  Delineated."  I  cannot  persuade  him  that 
he  works  too  hard  ;  though  we  are  all  sure  that  it  is 
true. 

Good-bye,  good-bye  :  I  miss  you  very  much,  and 
so  do  we  all.  Never  forget  that  there  are  those  who 
love  and  are  anxious  for  you. 

Your  dearly  affectionate, 

L.  A. 


"  LALLA    ROOKH  "  245 

Lucy  Aikin  to  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Aikin 

MRS.  PIOZZI,  JET.  79 

LAMBRIDGE,  July  5,  1818. 

MY  DEAR  FATHER  AND  MOTHER, — You  may  believe 
that  I  have  not  neglected  to  renew  my  acquaintance 
with  my  old  friend,  Mrs.  B.  After  mutual  calls,  she 
invited  me  to  a  thing  mightily  in  my  line — a  concert. 
I  was  gratified,  however,  with  some  of  the  music,  and 
glad  to  find  that  her  eldest  girl  is  regarded  as  a  kind 
of  musical  prodigy,  to  the  delight  of  father  and  mother. 
In  a  corner  of  the  room  sat  a  little  thin  old  lady,  muffled 
up  in  a  black  dress,  without  a  bit  of  white  to  be  seen, 
with  a  high,  smart  head-dress,  well  rouged  cheeks,  long 
nose,  and  very  lively  black  eyes,  whose  picturesque 
appearance  almost  instantly  attracted  my  notice. 
"  Let  me  introduce  you,"  cried  Mrs.  B.  "to  Mrs.  Piozzi !  " 
"  By  all  means,"  exclaimed  I,  for  a  hundred  associations 
made  me  long  to  talk  with  the  rival  of  "Bozzy  "  ;  and 
I  went  and  sat  by  her.  Her  vivacity  has  not  forsaken 
her,  and  I  have  been  at  once  gratified  and  tantalised  on 
our  return  from  Bath  this  morning,  to  find  her  card 
left  for  me.  I  hope  to  find  her  at  home  when  I  return 
the  visit.  She  is  now  seventy-nine,  and  seems  as  if 
she  might  enjoy  life  a  long  time  yet.  .  .  . 

Lucy  Aikin  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Channing 

THE    BRITISH    MUSEUM    IN    1833 

ADELPHI,  June  13,   1833. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — .  .  .  How  I  long  to  know  whether 
you  are  proposing  to  cross  the  sea  to  us  !  I  cannot  help 
thinking  it  would  answer  to  you  in  every  way.  It  is 


246  LUCY    AIKIN 

really  a  new  world  since  you  saw  England.  The  pro- 
gress in  many  ways  has  been  of  unexampled  rapidity. 
You  will  find  London  embellished  beyond  expression. 
I  ramble  amongst  the  new  buildings  with  unceasing 
admiration,  striving  in  vain  to  recall  the  old  state  of 
some  of  the  best  known  streets.  We  may  now  boast 
in  the  British  Museum  of  a  collection  to  which  the  world 
has  nothing  comparable,  and  the  suite  of  rooms  lately 
added  is  worthy  of  its  destination.  What  adds  a  moral 
interest  to  this  assemblage  of  the  treasures  of  nature  and 
art  is  the  splendid  testimony  it  affords  to  the  public 
spirit  of  Englishmen.  The  gifts  of  individuals  to  their 
country  preserved  here  are  almost  of  inestimable  value, 
even  in  a  commercial  view.  In  France,  on  the  contrary, 
their  museums  have  been  entirely  furnished  by  the 
purchases  or  the  plunder  of  the  Government.  Not 
even  ostentation  there  moves  private  persons  to  make 
presents  to  the  public.  There  is  another  pleasing 
circumstance.  A  few  years  since,  access  to  the  Museum 
was  so  difficult  that  it  was  scarcely  visited  by  twenty 
persons  in  a  day  ;  now,  in  compliance  with  the  spirit  of 
the  age,  it  is  thrown  open  to  all,  and  Brougham's  Penny 
Magazine  has  so  familiarised  all  readers  with  the  collec- 
tion that  you  see  the  rooms  thronged  by  thousands,  many 
from  the  humblest  walks  of  life.  I  observed  common 
soldiers  and  "  smirched  artisans,"  all  quiet,  orderly, 
attentive,  and  apparently  surveying  the  objects  with 
intelligent  curiosity.  Depend  upon  it,  there  never  was 
a  time  in  which  true  civilisation  was  making  such  strides 
amongst  us.  You  said  very  justly,  some  time  ago,  that 
we  are  only  in  the  beginning  of  a  revolution  :  the  spirit 
of  reform  has  gone  forth,  conquering  and  to  conquer: 
every  day  it  extends  its  way  into  new  provinces  ;  but 


WOMAN'S    SPHERE  247 

it  is,  it  will  continue  to  be,  a  peaceful  sway,  a  bloodless 
conquest.  The  strongholds  of  abuse  yield,  one  after 
another,  upon  summons.  Wellington  himself  will  not 
be  able  to  bring  his  "  order  "  into  conflict  with  the 
majesty  of  the  people.  I  never  looked  with  so  much 
complacency  on  the  state  of  my  country.  I  believe  her 
destined  to  a  progress  in  all  that  constitutes  true  glory, 
which  we  of  this  age  can  but  dimly  figure  to  ourselves 
in  the  blue  distance.  The  bulk  of  our  people  are  at 
length  well  cured  of  the  long  and  obstinate  delusion 
respecting  the  wisdom  of  our  ancestors,  which  so  power- 
fully served  the  purposes  of  the  interested  oppressors 
of  improvement.  Novelties  are  now  tried  upon  their 
merits  ;  perhaps  even  there  is  some  partiality  in  their 
favour. 

Pray,  pray,  come  and  judge  of  us  with  your  own  eyes  ! 
Believe  me,  ever  yours  most  truly, 

L.  AIKIN. 

Lucy  Aikin  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Channing 

WOMEN    AND    VOTES 

HAMPSTEAD,  October  14,  1837. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — Your  welcome  letter,  yesterday 
received,  contains  matters  which  will  not  suffer  me  to 
leave  it  a  day  longer  unanswered.  Well  might  you  be 
sorry  at  the  tidings  that  I  sympathised  in  Miss  M.'s 
ideas  of  the  sphere  of  woman  ;  but  if  she  is  in  the  habit 
of  advancing  her  opinions  on  no  stronger  foundations 
than  she  has  for  this,  small  must  be  the  proportion  of 
truth  in  them.  The  facts  are  these.  I  saw  her  a  few 
days  after  her  book  came  out,  when  I  had  only  looked 
in  it  for  half 'an  hour,  and  was  even  ignorant  that  she 


248  LUCY    AIKIN 

had  said  anything  on  the  subjects  of  marriage  and 
divorce,  on  which  I  hold  her  doctrine  to  be  as  ignorant, 
presumptuous,  and  pernicious  as  possible.  With  regard 
to  her  notions  of  the  political  rights  of  women,  I  certainly 
hold,  and  it  appears  to  me  self-evident  that,  on  the 
principle  that  there  should  never  be  taxation  without 
representation,  women  who  possess  independent  property 
ought  to  vote  ;  but  this  is  more  the  American  than  the 
English  principle.  Here  it  is,  or  was,  rather,  the  doctrine 
that  the  elective  franchise  is  a  trust  given  to  some  for 
the  good  of  the  whole ;  and  on  that  ground  I  think  the 
claim  of  women  might  be  dubious.  Yet  the  Reform  Bill, 
by  affixing  the  elective  franchise  only,  and  in  all  cases, 
to  the  possession  of  land,  or  occupancy  of  houses  of  a 
certain  value,  tends  to  suggest  the  idea  that  a  single 
woman  possessing  such  property  as  unrestrictedly  as  a 
man,  subject  to  the  same  taxes,  liable  even  to  some 
burdensome,  though  eligible  to  no  honourable  or  profit- 
able, parish  offices,  ought  in  equity  to  have,  and  might 
have  without  harm  or  danger,  a  suffrage  to  give.  I 
vote  for  guardians  of  the  poor  of  this  parish  by  merely 
signing  a  paper,  why  might  I  not  vote  thus  for  members 
of  Parliament  ?  As  to  the  scheme  of  opening  to  women 
professions  and  trades,  now  exercised  only  by  men,  I 
am  totally  against  it,  for  more  reasons  than  I  have 
time  to  give. 

Lucy  Aiken  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Channing 

THE   INEQUALITY   OF   MAN 

HAMPSTEAD,  April  18,  1838. 

...  I  really  am  totally  unable  to  understand  your 
faith  in  the  coming  of  a  time  when  all  men  will  be 


CLASS    DISTINCTIONS  249 

regarded  by  all  as  equals.     Such  a  time  can  plainly  not 
come  without  community  of  goods,  and  to  that  I  see 
no  tendency  ;   nor  can  it  arrive  whilst  any  division  of 
labour    exists.     As  long  as  one   man  works  only  with 
his  hands,   and  another  with  his  head,   there  will  be 
inequality  between  them  of  the  least  conventional  kind  : 
inequality  in  knowledge,  in  the  objects  of  thought,  in 
the   estimate   of  existence,    and   of  all   that   makes   it 
desirable.     Among  the  rudest  savages  there  has  always 
been  inequality,  produced  by  that  nature  itself  which 
gives  to  one  man  more  strength  and  more  understanding 
than  another  ;  and  all  the  refinements  of  social  life  open 
fresh  sources  of  inequality.      Even  in  a  herd  of  wild 
cattle  there  is  inequality,  produced  by  differences  of  age, 
and  sex,  and  size ;  and  what  imaginable  power  or  process 
can  ever  bring  human  creatures  to  a  parity  ?     As  little 
can  I  see  how    such  a    state  would  be  the  practical 
assertion  of  the  preference  due  to  the  "  inward  over  the 
outward,"    to    "  humanity    over    its    accidents."     Are 
not  many  of  these  sources  of  inequality  really  inward  ? 
,  Are    not    the    accidents    inseparable    from    humanity  ? 
The  things  which  elevate  man  above  his  fellows  are  all 
powers  of  one  kind  or  other  ;    wealth  is  a  power,  since 
it  can  purchase  gratifications  and  services  ;    birth  is  a 
power,  where  the  laws  have  made  it  the  condition  of 
enjoying  privileges  or  authority  ;    where  they  have  not 
done  so,  it  speedily  sinks  into  contempt.     Genius  is  a 
power  ;    weight  of  moral  character  is  a  power  ;    beauty 
is  a  power  ;  knowledge  is  a  power.     The  possessor  of  any 
of  these  goes  with  his  talent  to  the  market  of  life,  and 
obtains  with  it  or  for  it  what  others  think  it  worth  their 
while  to  give — some  more,   some  less.     Can  or  ought 
this   to  be   otherwise  ?     The  precious  gifts   of  nature 


250  LUCY   AIKIN 

must  be  valued  so  long  as  humanity  is  what  it  is  ;  the 
results  of  application,  of  exertion,  mental,  bodily,  cannot 
cease  to  bear  their  price  without  deadening  all  the 
active  principles  in  man.  I  see,  indeed,  a  tendency  in 
high  civilisation  to  break  down  in  some  degree  the  ancient 
barriers  between  class  and  class,  by  opening  new  roads 
to  wealth,  to  fame,  and  to  social  distinction.  Watt  and 
Davy,  Reynolds  and  Flaxman,  could  not  safely  be 
treated  with  disdain  either  by  Howards  and  Mowbrays, 
or  by  the  "  millionaires  "  of  commerce ;  but  this  does  not 
assist  those  who  have  nothing  to  rest  upon  but  mere 
human  nature  itself.  These  may  be  equal  to  their  more 
privileged  'brethren  before  God  ;  they  may,  and  ought 
to  be,  equal  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  but  socially  equal — 
I  do  not  see  the  possibility.  You  approve  the  aristocracy 
of  wealth  so  far  as  it  tends  to  break  in  upon  that  of  rank, 
and  to  mix  all  classes — but  how  far  would  you  carry 
this  mixture  ?  Shall  I  begin  tea-drinkings  with  my 
maudlin  washerwoman  ?  Will  you  invite  to  your  table 
the  bow-legged  snip  who  made  your  coat  ?  How  soon, 
alas  !  at  this  rate  would  the  rivulet  of  refinement  be 
swallowed  up  in  the  ocean  of  vulgarity  !  What  models 
would  remain  of  manners,  of  language,  of  taste  in 
literature  or  the  arts  !  What  a  mere  work-a-day  world 
would  this  become  !  The  coarse  themselves  would  grow 
coarser,  and  in  the  end  sensuality  would  rise  victorious 
over  all. 

The  opinions  in  which  all  could  agree  must  be  absurd 
and  extravagant  ones,  for,  as  Locke  observes,  "  truth 
and  reason  did  never  yet  carry  it  by  the  majority  any- 
where." The  talk  in  which  all  can  join  is  seldom  such 
as  any  one  is  much  better  for  hearing.  If  it  be  true 
that  "  there  is  no  man  of  merit  but  hath  a  touch  of 


FAMILY    NEWS  251 

singularity,  and  scorns  something,"  surely  merit  must 
always  be  allowed  to  scorn  ignorance,  or  grossness 
incapable  of  estimating  it ;  and  this  cannot  but  include 
a  kind  of  disdain  of  the  society  of  the  lower  classes. 
Pray  answer  me  all  this,  for  I  think  I  must  have  mis- 
apprehended your  idea. 


ANN  GODWIN    (d.  1809) 

BEFORE  her  marriage  with  Mr.  Godwin,  a  dissenting  minister, 
was  a  Miss  Hull.  Of  her  thirteen  children,  William  Godwin 
the  philosopher,  the  husband  of  Mary  Wollstonecraft  and 
father-in-law  of  Shelley,  alone  became  famous.  Mrs.  Godwin's 
letters  are  curious  and  homely  examples  of  the  letters  of  an 
anxious  mother  and  careful  housewife. 


To  William  Godwin l 

FAMILY    NEWS 

February  6,  1800. 

DEAR  WM., — I  should  be  glad  to  hear  a  good  account 
of  Joseph.  I  doubt  much  his  amendment  it  is  not  the 
first  time  he  has  overcome  you  with  fine  words.  He 
seems  according  to  what  I  can  learn  to  be  poorer  for  ye 
£44  I  have  given  him  than  he  was  before  he  had  it,  he 
can't  neither  board  nor  clothe  Harriot.  I  hear  she  is 
gone  to  service  somewhere  in  the  country.  Well,  she 
had  better  begin  low  than  be  puffd  up  with  pride  now 
and  afterwards  become  low,  for  she  had  certainly  no 

i  The  two  following  letters  by  Ann  Godwin  are  reprinted  by 
kind  per  mission 'of  Messrs.  Kegan  Paul,  Trench,  Triibner  &  Co., 
Ltd.,  from  Mr.  C.  Kegan  Paul's  "  Life  of  William  Godwin." 


252  MRS.    GODWIN 

good  examples  at  home.  I  heard  once  she  was  in  ex- 
pectation of  being  sent  to  her  Aunt  Barker's,  but  what 
barbarity  is  it  not  to  let  her  have  shoes  to  her  feet  when 
she  came  to  your  sister's.  I  am  glad  she  did  not  go 
where  her  education  would  have  been  as  bad  as  at  home. 
London  is  the  place  where  girls  go  too  for  services  to  get 
better  wages  than  they  can  in  the  country,  but  I  know 
the  reason  is  her  is  given  up  to  pride  and  sensuality  and 
well  know  where  yl  will  lead  to  and  all  that  tread  in 
the  same  steps.  I  hoped,  tho'  it  was  not  likely,  to  have 
done  him  good  and  your  sister  too  but  I  find  I  am  mis- 
taken. We  in  the  country  deny  ourselves  because  of  y6 
dearness  of  provisions,  make  meal  dumplings,  meal 
crusts  to  pies  mix'd  with  boil'd  rice  and  a  very  little 
butter  in  them,  our  bread  meal  and  rice  which  we  have 
bou*  at  twopence  per  pound,  and  very  good  it  is,  pan- 
cakes wth  boil'd  rice  in  water  till  tender  and  very  little 
milk  or  egg  with  flower,  we  have  had  a  very  favourable 
winter  hitherto,  only  one  sharp  frost  one  fortnight. 
Did  you  pay  Mary  Bailey  £5  or  not,  has  her  father  done 
anything  for  them,  how  do  they  go  on,  what  is  their 
direction  ?  Is  J.  Jex  steady  and  give  content  in  his 
situation  ?  I  wish  him  to  learn  his  business  stay  his  time. 
I  hope  he  is  bound  till  2 1  years  of  age  I  hope  yr  brother 
John  will  take  a  prudent  care.  I  cannot  promise 
for  Natty  he  wishes  to  be  in  business  for  himself  and  to 
marry.  He  has  made  one  attempt  but  she  was  pre- 
engaged  and  I  don't  know  another  in  the  world  I  should 
like  so  well,  so  most  likely  he  must  remain  a  servant 
all  his  days.  Providence  ought  to  be  submitted  to,  'tis 
but  a  little  while  we  have  to  live  here  in  comparison  of 
Eternity  and  wedlock  is  attended  with  many  cares  and 
fears.  I  am  not  well  very  few  days  together  tho'  I 


MOTHERLY    ANXIETY  253 

keep  about.  My  great  complaint  is  a  bad  dijestion.  I 
desire  to  resign  myself  to  y*  almighty  will  in  everything 
my  life  to  me  is  now  a  burthen  rather  than  a  pleasure. 
I  wish  you  the  truest  happiness  I  don't  mean  what  ye 
world  calls  happiness  for  that's  of  short  duration,  but  a 
prospect  of  that  happiness  that  will  never  fade  away. 
From  your  affectionate  mother, 

A.  GODWIN. 


Ann  Godwin,  to  William  Godwin 

SITTING    UNDER    MR.    SYKES 

November  15,  1803. 

MY  DEAR  WILLIAM, — Whose  countenance  gave  me 
the  highest  delight  to  see  with  your  wife,  whom  I  also 
respect  for  her  many  amiable  qualities.  I  wish  you 
had  paid  so  much  respect  to  good  Mr.  Sykes  as  to  have 
heard  him  preach  one  Lord's  Day  in  your  good  father's 
Pulpit.  Think  with  yourself,  if  you  were  in  his  place, 
and  your  mother's  that  loves  you,  and  at  the  same  time 
highly  values  Mr.  Sykes,  who  in  many  respects  is  the 
very  Image  of  your  dear  father,  for  friendliness  and 
wish  to  do  everybody  good.  A  man  of  unblemished 
carrector  and  serious  godliness.  He  told  me  he  was 
ingaged  before  he  received  my  invitation  to  spend  the 
afternoon,  which  I  was  sorry  for,  for  he  is  so  sensible  a 
man,  that  you  could  not  but  been  pleased  with  his 
company.  It  now  remains  to  tell  you  and  Mrs.  Godwin 
I  have  done  the  best  I  ever  could  about  the  sheets,  and 
think  them  a  very  great  pennyworth.  I  desired  Hannah 
to  cut  off  lines  of  her  letter,  and  send  them  to  you  how 
to  remit  the  money — £4  45. — for  the  sheets,  and  one 


254  MRS.    GODWIN 

shilling  for  the  pack  cloth,  which  makes  £4  55.  Pay  it 
into  Barklay's  bank  taking  his  receipt  on  your  letter  for 
Ann  Godwin  sen.'s  account  at  Guirneys  Bank  Norwich. 
They  will  do  it  without  putting  you  to  the  expence  of  a 
stamp.  Leave  room  to  cut  it  off,  that  I  may  send  it. 

Mrs.  Godwins  kind  letter  I  rec'd  ;  was  rejoiced  you 
got  safe  home,  and  met  your  dear  children  in  good 
helth,  and  the  particulars  of  your  journey.  The  time 
we  spent  together  was  to  me  very  pleasing,  to  see  you 
both  in  such  helth  and  so  happy  in  consulting  to  make 
each  other  so,  which  is  beutiful,  in  a  married  state,  and, 
as  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  appears  husifly  l  which  is  a 
high  recommendation  in  a  wife  :  give  her  the  fruit  of  her 
hands,  and  let  her  own  hands  praise  her.  I  might  go 
back  to  the  loth  verse.  But  will  conclude  with,  favour 
is  deceitful,  and  beauty  is  vain,  but  a  woman  that 
feareth  the  lord,  she  shall  be  praised. 

I  wish  your  brother  John  had  ever  so  mean  a  place 
where  he  had  his  board  found,  if  it  were  Mr.  Finche's 
footman's  for  he  must  actually  starve  on  half  a  guinea 
a  week.  If  his  master  will  give  him  a  carrector.  I  have 
sent  him  7  Ib.  of  butter,  but  that  can't  last  long  and  I 
am  in  earnest.  If  he  don't  seek  a  place  while  he  has 
deasent  clothes  on  his  back,  nobody  will  take  him  in. 
I  cannot  nor  I  will  not,  support  him.  I  shall  not  be 
ashamed  to  own  him,  let  him  be  in  ever  so  low  a  station, 
if  he  have  an  honest  carrector.  He  is  two  old  to  go  to 
sea,  but  may  do  for  such  a  place  if  his  pride  will  let  him  : 
its  better  than  a  jale,  and  I  can't  pretend  to  keep  him 
out.  Now  I  have  another  melancholy  story  to  tell  you. 
Your  dear  brother  Natty,  I  fear,  is  declining  apace.  He 
is  still  at  Mr.  Murton's,  but  I  have  invited  him  home  to 
1  Housewifely. 


THE    UNEMPLOYED  255 

do  what  I  can  for  him.  If  my  maid  cannot  nurse  him 
he  must  have  one.  Tell  Hannah  Mr.  Hull's  brother 
Raven  seems  declining  too,  may  perhaps  live  the  winter 
out,  but  has  no  appetite,  nor  keep  out  of  bed  half  the 
day.  You  see  Deth  is  taking  his  rounds,  and  the 
young  as  well  as  the  old  are  not  sure  of  a  day.  The 
Lord  grant  that  we  may  finish  our  warfare,  so  as  not  to 
be  afraid  to  die. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  Mr.  Sykes's  text  last  Lord's  Day — 
Isaiah  liv.,  ''  O  thou  afflicted  and  tossed  with  tempess, 
behold  I  will  lay  thy  stones  with  fare  coulars,  and  lay 
thy  foundations  with  sapphires " — one  of  the  finest 
sermons  I  ever  heard.  I  wish  you  to  read  Henery's 
exposition  on  that  chapter. 

I  am  unwell  with  a  cold.  I've  not  been  so  well  since 
you  left  us.  I  believe  I  did  myself  no  good  with  such 
long  walks,  but  have  not  missed  a  meeting  since,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  G.  send  their  respects  to  you,  and  so  do  their 
children  and  my  maid  Molly. 

I  would  advise  you  to  let  your  children  learn  to  knit 
little  worsted  short  stockens,  just  above  their  shoes,  to 
keep  their  feet  from  chillblains  this  winter.  We  cannot 
but  be  anxious  about  this  war.  It  was  pride  that 
begun  it,  and  will  most  likely  ruin  it.  Cursed  pride  that 
creeps  securely  in,  and  swels  a  haughty  wurm.  It  was 
the  sin  that  cast  the  divils  out  of  heaven,  and  our  first 
parents  out  of  Paradise. — I  am,  with  real  affection,  your 
loving  mother, 

ANN  GODWIN. 

I  have  sent  you  two  pocket  handkerchifs,  a  pair 
course  stockens  for  your  brother,  the  rest  for  my  Grand- 
son John. 


256  JANE    TAYLOR 

JANE   TAYLOR   (1783-1824) 

A  DAUGHTER  of  Isaac  Taylor,  an  engraver,  and  pastor  of  an 
Independent  Congregation.  Jane  Taylor  and  her  sister 
Anne  (afterwards  Mrs.  Gilbert)  when  about  thirteen  assisted 
their  father  in  his  business.  In  1798  they  contributed  to 
an  Annual,  and  from  that  date  rapidly  produced  volumes 
of  Poems  and  Hymns  for  children.  Jane  also  wrote  tales 
and  essays,  but  her  "  Original  Poems  "  for  children  attained 
extraordinary  popularity  and  even  at  the  present  day  are 
the  chief  favourites  of  little  people. 


Jane  Taylor  to  Miss  S.  L.  C. 

TIME    AND    TEMPERAMENT 

COLCHESTER,  February  13,   1806. 

...  In  truth  Jane  Taylor  of  the  morning,  and 
Jane  Taylor  of  the  evening,  are  as  different  people,  in 
their  feelings  and  sentiments,  as  two  such  intimate 
friends  can  possibly  be.  The  former  is  an  active,  handy 
little  body,  who  can  make  beds  or  do  plain  work,  and  now 
and  then  takes  fancy  for  drawing,  etc.  But  the  last 
mentioned  lady  never  troubles  her  head  with  these 
menial  affairs  ;  nothing  will  suit  her  but  the  pen  ;  and 
though  she  does  nothing  very  extraordinary  in  this  way, 
yet  she  so  far  surpasses  the  first-named  gentlewoman, 
that  any  one  who  had  ever  received  a  letter  from  both, 
would  immediately  distinguish  between  the  two,  by  the 
difference  of  style.  But  to  drop  this  ingenious  allegory, 
I  assure  you  it  represents  the  truth,  and  I  am  pretty  well 
determined  not  again  to  attempt  letter-writting  before 
breakfast.  For  really  I  am  a  mere  machine — the  most 


ON    LETTER    WRITING  257 

stupid  and  dronish  creature  you  can  imagine,  at  this 
time.  The  unsentimental  realities  of  breakfast  may 
claim  some  merit  in  restoring  my  mental  faculties  ; 
but  its  effects  are  far  surpassed  by  the  evening's  tea  : — • 
after  that  comfortable,  social,  invigorating  meal,  I  am 
myself,  and  begin  to  think  the  world  a  pleasanter  place, 
and  my  friends  more  agreeable  people,  and  (entre  nous) 
myself  a  much  more  respectable  personage,  than  they 
have  seemed  during  the  day  :  so  that  by  eight  o'clock 
I  am  just  worked  up  to  a  proper  state  of  mind  for  writing. 
If  you  are  liable  to  these  changing  frames,  you  will  not 
only  excuse  and  feel  for  me,  but  heartily  acquiesce  in 
my  resolution  of  now  putting  down  the  pen  till  the 
evening. 

It  is  now  indeed  evening,  and  several  days  have 
passed  since  I  wrote  the  foregoing  ;  and  I  do  assure  you 
that  nothing  but  the  fear  of  being  unable  to  fill  another 
sheet  in  time  for  my  father's  departure  should  prevail 
with  me  to  send  you  so  much  nonsense.  I  often  reproach 
myself  for  writing  such  trifling  letters  ;  but  it  is  so  easy 
to  trifle,  and  so  hard  to  write  what  may  be  worth  reading, 
that  it  is  a  sad  temptation  not  to  attempt  it.  ... 


Jane  Taylor  to  Miss  S.  L.  C. 

THE    CULTURED   HOUSE-WIFE 

COLCHESTER,  June  2,  1808. 

.  .  .  We  have  already  had  some  delightful  evening 
rambles.  When  we  are  all  out  together  on  these  happy 
occasions  I  forget  all  my  troubles,  and  feel  as  light- 
hearted  as  I  can  remember  I  used  to  do  some  seven 


258  JANE    TAYLOR 

or  eight  years  ago,   when  I  scarcely  knew  what  was 
meant  by  depression.     If  I  should  ever  lose  my  relish 
for  these  simple   pleasures — if   I   thought  by  growing 
older,  my  feelings  would   no  longer  be   alive  to  them, 
I  should  be  ready  indeed  to  cling  to  youth,  and  petition 
old  Time  to  take  a  little  rest,  instead  of  working  so 
indefatigably,  night  and  day,  upon  me.     But  alas  !    he 
is  such  a  persevering  old  fellow,  that  nothing  can  hinder 
him  ;   one  must  needs  admire  his  industry,  even  though 
one  may  now  and  then  be  a  little  provoked  with  obstinacy. 
But,  seriously,  it  is  not  right  to  shrink  from  age,  much 
less  from  maturity  ;    and  could  I  be  sure  of  retaining 
some   of   my   present   ideas,    feelings,    and   sentiments, 
and  of  parting  only  with  those  that  are  vain  and  childish, 
I  think  I  could  welcome  its  near  approach  with  a  toler- 
ably good  grace.     But  I  dread  finding  a  chilling  indiffer- 
ence steal  gradually  upon  me,  for  some  of  those  pursuits 
and  pleasures  which  have  hitherto  been  most  dear  to 
me — an  indifference  which  I  think  I  have  observed  in 
some  of  the  meridian  of  life.     I  am  always,  therefore, 
delighted  to  discover  in  people  of  advancing  years  any 
symptoms  of  their  being  still  susceptible  of  such  enjoy- 
ments ;  and  in  this  view,  the  letters  of  Mrs.  Grant  afforded 
me  peculiar  gratification  :   increasing  years  seem  to  have 
deprived  her  of  no  rational  enjoyment.     If  time  clipped 
a  little  the  wings  of  her  fancy,  she  was  still  able  to  soar 
above  the  common  pleasures  of  a  mere  housewife — no 
reflection,  by  the  by,  upon  that  respectable  character  ; 
believe  me,   I  reverence  it ;    and  always  regard  with 
respect  a    woman  who   performs   her  difficult,  compli- 
cated, and  important  duties  with  address  and  propriety. 
Yet  I  see  no  reason  why  the  best  housewife  in  the  world 
should  take  more  pleasure  in  making  a  curious  pudding 


THE    CULTURED    HOUSE-WIFE  259 

than  in  reading  a  fine  poem  ;  or  feel  a  greater  pride  in 
setting  out  an  elegant  table  than  in  producing  a  well- 
trained  child.  I  perfectly  glory  in  the  undeniable 
example  Mrs.  Grant  exhibits  of  a  woman  filling  up  all 
the  duties  of  her  domestic  stations  with  peculiar  activity 
and  success,  and  at  the  same  time  cultivating  the  minds 
of  her  children  usefully  and  elegantly  ;  and  still  allowing 
herself  to  indulge  occasionally  in  the  most  truly  rational 
of  all  pleasures — the  pleasures  of  intellect. 

I  daresay  you  read  a  paper  in  The  Christian  Observer 
for  April  on  Female  Cultivation.  I  feel  grateful  to  the 
sensible  and  liberally  minded  author.  I  do  believe  the 
reason  why  so  few  men,  even  among  the  intelligent, 
wish  to  encourage  the  mental  cultivation  of  women,  is 
their  excessive  love  of  the  good  things  of  this  life  ;  they 
tremble  for  their  dear  stomachs,  concluding  that  a 
woman  who  could  taste  the  pleasures  of  poetry  or 
sentiment  would  never  descend  to  pay  due  attention  to 
those  exquisite  flavours  in  pudding  or  pie,  that  are  so 
gratifying  to  their  philosophic  palates  ;  and  yet,  poor 
gentlemen,  it  is  a  thousand  pities  they  should  be  so 
much  mistaken  ;  for,  after  all,  who  so  much  as  a  woman 
of  sense  and  cultivation  will  feel  the  real  importance  of 
her  domestic  duties  ;  or  who  so  well,  so  cheerfully  per- 
form them.  .  .  . 


MARY  LAMB   (1764-1847) 

THE  devoted  and  only  sister  of  Charles  Lamb.  She  wrote 
the  comedies  for  the  "  Tales  from  Shakespeare."  This  popu- 
lar book  was  followed  by  "  Mrs.  Leicester's  School,"  and 
much  of  the  "  Poetry  for  Children."  Mary  Lamb  never 
left  her  brother  except  when  compelled  to  do  so  on  account 


2<5o  MARY    LAMB 

of  her  health  ;  she  survived  him  thirteen  years,  and  was 
buried  by  his  side.  The  following  letters  show  that  she 
possessed  some  of  her  brother's  quaint  humour. 


Mary  Lamb  to  Sarah  Stoddard  (Mrs.  William 
Hazlitt) l 

MARY  LAMB'S  GOSSIP 

May  14,  1806. 

MY  DEAR  SARAH, — No  intention  of  forfeiting  my 
promise,  but  mere  want  of  time  has  prevented  me  from 
continuing  my  Journal.  You  seem  pleased  with  the  long, 
stupid  one  I  sent,  and,  therefore,  I  shall  certainly 
continue  to  write  at  every  opportunity.  The  reason 
why  I  have  not  had  any  time  to  spare,  is  because  Charles 
has  given  himself  some  hollidays  after  the  hard  labour 
of  finishing  his  farce,  and,  therefore,  I  have  had  none  of 
the  evening  leisure  I  promised  myself.  Next  week  he 
promises  to  go  to  work  again.  I  wish  he  may  happen 
to  hit  upon  some  new  plan,  to  his  mind,  for  another 
farce  :  when  once  begun  I  do  not  fear  his  perseverance, 
but  the  hollidays  he  has  allowed  himself,  I  fear,  will 
unsettle  him.  I  look  forward  to  next  week  with  the 
same  land  of  anxiety  I  did  to  the  first  entrance  at  the 
new  lodging.  We  have  had,  as  you  know,  so  many 
teasing  anxieties  of  late,  that  I  have  got  a  kind  of  habit 
of  foreboding  that  we  shall  never  be  comfortable,  and 
that  he  will  never  settle*  to  work  ;  which  I  know  is 
wrong,  and  which  I  will  try  with  all  my  might  to  over- 
come— for  certainly,  if  I  could  but  see  things  as  they 
really  are,  our  prospects  are  considerably  improved  since 

i  The  following  letters  of  Mary  Lamb  are  printed  by  kind  per- 
mission of  Mr,  W.  C.  Hazlitt. 


THE    TEA    PARTY  261 

the  memorable  day  of  Mrs.  Fenwick's  last  visit.  I  have 
heard  nothing  of  that  good  lady,  or  of  the  Fells,  since 
you  left  us. 

We  have  been  visiting  a  little — to  Noriss's,  to  God- 
win's ;  and  last  night  we  did  not  come  home  from 
Captain  Burney's  till  two  o'clock :  the  Saturday  night 
was  changed  to  Friday,  because  Rickman  could  not 
be  there  to-night.  We  had  the  best  tea  things,  and  the 
litter  all  cleared  away,  and  everything  as  handsome  as 
possible — Mrs.  Rickman  being  of  the  party.  Mrs. 
Rickman  is  much  increased  in  size  since  we  saw  her  last, 
and  the  alteration  in  her  strait  shape  wonderfully 
improves  her.  Phillips  was  there,  and  Charles  had  a 
long  batch  of  Cribbage  with  him  :  and,  upon  the  whole, 
we  had  the  most  cheerful  evening  I  have  known  there 
a  long  time.  To-morrow  we  dine  at  Holcroft's.  These 
things  rather  fatigue  me  ;  but  I  look  for  a  quiet  week 
next  week,  and  hope  for  better  times.  We  have  had 
Mrs.  Brooks  and  all  the  Martins,  and  we  have  likewise 
been  there  ;  so  that  I  seem  to  have  been  in  a  continual 
bustle  lately.  I  do  not  think  Charles  cares  so  much  for 
the  Martins  as  he  did,  which  is  a  fact  you  will  be  glad  to 
hear — though  you  must  not  name  them  when  you  write  : 

*  always  remember,  when  I  tell  you  any  thing  about  them,. 

/not  to  mention  their  names  in  return. 

We  have  had  a  letter  from  your  brother  by  the  same 
mail  as  yours  I  suppose  ;  he  says  he  does  not  mean  to 
return  till  summer,  and  that  is  all  he  says  about  him- 
self ;  his  letter  being  entirely  filled  with  a  long  story 
about  Lord  Nelson — but  nothing  more  than  what  the 
newspapers  have  been  full  of,  such  as  his  last  words, 
etc.  Why  does  he  tease  you  with  so  much  good  advice  ; 
is  it  merely  to  fill  up  his  letters,  as  he  filled  ours,  with 


262  MARY    LAMB 

Lord  Nelson's  exploits  ?  or  has  any  new  thing  come 
out  against  you  ?  has  he  discovered  Mr.  Curse-a-rat's 
correspondence  ?  I  hope  you  will  not  write  to  that 
news-sending  gentleman  any  more.  I  promised  never 
more  to  give  my  advice,  but  one  may  be  allowed  to  hope 
a  little  ;  and  I  also  hope  you  will  have  something  to 
tell  me  soon  about  Mr.  W[hite] :  have  you  seen  him  yet  ? 
I  am  sorry  to  hear  your  Mother  is  not  better,  but  I  am 
in  a  hoping  humour  justjiow,  and  I  cannot  help  hoping 
that  we  shall  all  see  happier  days.  The  bells  are  justjiow 
ringing  for  the  taking  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope. 

I  have  written  to  Mrs.  Coleridge  to  tell  her  that  her 
husband  is  at  Naples  ;  your  brother  slightly  named  his 
being  there,  but  he  did  not  say  that  he  had  heard  from 
him  himself.  Charles  is  very  busy  at  the  office  ;  he 
will  be  kept  there  to-day  till  seven  or  eight  o'clock  :  and 
he  came  home  very  smoky  and  drinky  last  night ;  so  that 
I  am  afraid  that  a  hard  day's  work  will  not  agree  very 
well  with  him. 

Oh  dear  !  What  shall  I  say  next  ?  Why  this  I  will 
sajr  next,  that  I  wish  you  was  with  me  ;  I  have  been 
eating  a  mutton  chop  all  alone,  and  I  have  been  just 
looking  in  the  pint  porter  pot,  which  I  find  quite  empty, 
and  yet  I  am  still  very  dry.  If  you  was  with  me,  we 
would  have  a  glass  of  brandy-and- water  ;  but  it  is  quite 
impossible  to  drink  brandy-and-water  by  oneself ; 
therefore  I  must  wait  with  patience  till  the  kettle  boils. 
I  hate  to  drink  tea  alone,  it  is  worse  than  dining  alone. 
We  have  got  a  fresh  cargo  of  biscuits  from  Captain 
Burney's.  I  have March  [May]  14. — Here  I  was  in- 
terrupted ;  and  a  long,  tedious  interval  has  intervened, 
during  which  I  have  had  neither  time  nor  inclination 
to  write  a  word.  The  Lodging — that  pride  and  pleasure 


CHARLES    LAMB'S    TEASING    WAYS       263 

of  your  heart  and  mine,  is  given  up,  and  here  he  is  again, 
Charles,  I  mean — as  unsettled  and  as  undetermined  as 
ever.  When  he  went  to  the  poor  lodging,  after  the 
hollidays  I  told  you  he  had  taken,  he  could  not  endure 
the  solitariness  of  them,  and  I  had  no  rest  for  the  sole 
of  my  foot  till  I  promised  to  believe  his  solemn  protesta- 
tions that  he  could  and  would  write  as  well  at  home  as 
there.  Do  you  believe  this  ? 

I  have  no  power  over  Charles — he  will  do — what  he 
will  do.  But  I  ought  to  have  some  little  influence  over 
myself.  And  therefore  I  am  most  manfully  resolving 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  with  my  own  mind.  Your 
visit  to  us,  though  not  a  very  comfortable  one  to  your- 
self, has  been  of  great  use  to  me.  I  set  you  up  in  my 
fancy  as  a  kind  of  thing  that  takes  an  interest  in  my 
concerns  ;  and  I  hear  you  talking  to  me  and  arguing  the 
matters  very  learnedly,  when  I  give  way  to  despondency. 
You  shall  hear  a  good  account  of  me,  and  the  progress 
I  make  in  altering  my  fretful  temper  to  a  calm  and  quiet 
one.  It  is  but  being  once  thorowly  convinced  one  is 
wrong,  to  make  one  resolve  to  do  so  no  more  ;  and  I 
know  my  dismal  faces  have  been  almost  as  great  a  draw- 
back upon  Charles's  comfort  as  his  feverish,  teazing 
ways  have  been  upon  mine.  Our  love  for  each  other  has 
been  the  torment  of  our  lives  hitherto.  I  am  most 
seriously  intending  to  bend  the  whole  force  of  my  mind 
to  counteract  this,  and  I  think  I  see  some  prospect  of 
success. 

Of  Charles  ever  bringing  any  work  to  pass  at  home, 
I  am  very  doubtful ;  and  of  the  farce  succeeding,  I  have 
little  or  no  hope  ;  but  if  I  could  once  get  into  the  way 
of  being  chearful  myself,  I  should  see  an  easy  remedy 
in  leaving  town  and  living  cheaply,  almost  wholly 


264  MARY    LAMB 

alone  ;  but  till  I  do  find  we  really  are  comfortable  alone, 
and  by  ourselves,  it  seems  a  dangerous  experiment.  We 
shall  certainly  stay  where  we  are,  till  after  next  Christ- 
mas ;  and  in  the  meantime,  as  I  told  you  before,  all  my 
whole  thoughts  shall  be  to  change  myself  into  just  such  a 
chearful  soul  as  you  would  be  in  a  lone  house,  with  no 
companion  but  your  brother,  if  you  had  nothing  to  vex 
you — nor  no  means  of  wandering  after  Curse-a-rats. 

Do  write  soon  :  though  I  write  all  about  myself,  I  am 
thinking  all  the  while  of  you,  and  I  am  uneasy  at  the 
length  of  time  it  seems  since  I  heard  from  you.  Your 
Mother,  and  Mr.  White,  is  running  continually  in  my 
head  ;  and  this  second  winter  makes  me  think  how  cold, 
damp,  and  forlorn  your  solitary  house  will  feel  to  you. 
I  would  your  feet  were  perched  up  again  on  our  fender. 

Manning  is  not  yet  gone.  Mrs.  Holcroft  is  brought 
to  bed.  Mrs.  Reynolds  has  been  confined  at  home  with 
illness,  but  is  recovering.  God  bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

M.  LAMB. 


Mary  Lamb  to  Sarah  Stoddart 

11  TALES    FROM    SHAKESPEARE  " 

June  2,  1806. 

MY  DEAR  SARAH, — You  say  truly  that  I  have  sent  you 
too  many  make-believe  letters.  I  do  not  mean  to  serve 
you  so  again,  if  I  can  help  it.  I  have  been  very  ill  for 
some  days  past  with  the  toothache.  Yesterday  I  had  it 
drawn  ;  and  I  feel  myself  greatly  relieved,  but  far  from 
easy,  for  my  head  and  my  jaws  still  ache  ;  and,  being 
unable  to  do  any  business,  I  would  wish  to  write  you  a 


WILLIAM    HAZLITT  265 

long  letter  to  atone  for  my  former  offences  ;  but  I 
feel  so  languid,  that  I  am  afraid  wishing  is  all  I 
can  do. 

I  am  sorry  you  are  so  worried  with  business  ;  and  I 
am  still  more  sorry  for  your  sprained  ancle.  You  ought 
not  to  walk  upon  it.  What  is  the  matter  between  you 
and  your  good-natured  maid  you  used  to  boast  of  ? 
and  what  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  your  Aunt  ? 
You  say  she  is  discontented.  You  must  bear  with  them 
as  well  as  you  can  ;  for,  doubtless,  it  is  your  poor  mother's 
teazing  that  puts  you  all  out  of  sorts.  I  pity  you  from 
my  heart. 

We  cannot  come  to  see  you  this  summer,  nor  do  I 
think  it  advisable  to  come  and  incommode  you,  when 
you  for  the  same  expense  could  come  to  us.  Whenever 
you  feel  yourself  disposed  to  run  away  from  your  troubles 
come  up  to  us  again.  I  wish  it  was  not  such  a  long 
expensive  journey,  then  you  could  run  backwards  and 
forwards  every  month  or  two. 

I  am  very  sorry  you  still  hear  nothing  from  Mr.  White. 
I  am  afraid  that  is  all  at  an  end.  What  do  you  intend 
to  do  about  Mr.  Turner  ? 

I  believe  Mr.  Rickman  is  well  again,  but  I  have  not 
been  able  to  get  out  lately  to  enquire,  because  of  my 
toothache.  Louisa  Martin  is  quite  well  again. 

William  Hazlitt,  the  brother  of  him  you  know,  is  in 
town.  I  believe  you  have  heard  us  say  we  like  him  ? 
He  came  in  good  time  ;  for  the  loss  of  Manning  made 
Charles  very  dull,  and  he  likes  Hazlitt  better  than 
anybody  except  Manning.  My  toothache  has  moped 
Charles  to  death  :  You  know  how  he  hates  to  see 
people  ill. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  has  been  this  month  past  at  Deptford, 


266  MARY    LAMB 

so  that  I  never  know  when  Monday  comes.  I  am  glad 
you  have  got  your  mother's  pension. 

My  Tales  are  to  be  published  in  separate  story-books  ; 
I  mean,  in  single  stories,  like  the  children's  little  shilling 
books.  I  cannot  send  you  them  in  manuscript,  because 
they  are  all  in  the  Godwins'  hands  ;  but  one  will  be 
published  very  soon,  and  then  you  shall  have  it  all  in 
print.  I  go  on  very  well,  and  have  no  doubt  but  I  shall 
always  be  able  to  hit  upon  some  such  kind  of  job  to 
keep  going  on.  I  think  I  shall  get  fifty  pounds  a  year 
at  the  lowest  calculation  ;  but  as  I  have  not  yet  seen 
any  money  of  my  own  earning,  for  we  do  not  expect  to 
be  paid  till  Christmas,  I  do  not  feel  the  good  fortune, 
that  had  so  unexpectedly  befallen  me,  half  so  much  as 
I  ought  to  do.  But  another  year,  no  doubt,  I  shall 
perceive  it. 

When  I  write  again,  you  will  hear  tidings  of  the  farce, 
for  Charles  is  to  go  in  a  few  days  to  the  Managers  to 
enquire  about  it.  But  that  must  now  be  a  next-year's 
business  too,  even  if  it  does  succeed  ;  so  it's  all  looking 
forward  and  no  prospect  of  present  gain.  But  that's 
better  than  no  hopes  at  all,  either  for  present  or  future 
times. 

Charles  has  written  Macbeth,  Othello,  King  Lear,  and 
has  begun  Hamlet ;  you  would  like  to  see  us,  as  we  often 
sit  writing  on  one  table  (but  not  on  one  cushion  sitting) 
like  Hermia  and  Helena  in  the  Midsummers'  Night's 
Dream  ;  or  rather,  like  an  old  literary  Darby  and  Joan  : 
I  taking  snuff,  and  he  groaning  all  the  while,  and  saying 
^he  can  make  nothing  of  it,  which  he  always  says  till  he 
has  finished,  and  then  he  finds  out  he  has  made  some- 
thing of  it. 

If  I  tell  you  that,  you  Widow-Blackacreise,  you  must 


ON    HUSBANDS  267 

tell  me  I  Tale-ise,  for  my  Tales  seem  to  be  all  the  subject- 
matter  I  write  about  ;  and  when  you  see  them,  you  will 
think  them  poor  little  baby-stories  to  make  such  a  talk 
about ;  but  I  have  no  news  to  send,  nor  nothing,  in  short, 
to  say,  that  is  worth  paying  twopence  for.  I  wish  I 
could  get  franks,  then  I  should  not  care  how  short  or 
stupidly  I  wrote. 

Charles  smokes  still,  and  will  smoke  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter. 

Martin  Burney  has  just  been  here.  My  Tales  (again) 
and  Charles's  Farce  has  made  the  boy  mad  to  turn 
Author  ;  and  he  has  written  a  Farce,  and  he  has  made  the 
Winter's  Tale  into  a  story  ;  but  what  Charles  says  of 
himself  is  really  true  of  Martin,  for  he  can  make  nothing 
at  all  of  it :  and  I  have  been  talking  very  eloquently 
this  morning,  to  convince  him  that  nobody  can  write 
farces,  etc.  under  thirty  years  of  age.  And  so  I  suppose 
he  will  go  home  and  new-model  his  farce. 

What  is  Mr.  Turner  ?  and  what  is  likely  to  come  of 
him  ?  and  how  do  you  like  him  ?  and  what  do  you  in- 
tend to  do  about  it  ?  I  almost  wish  you  to  remain  single 
till  your  mother  dies,  and  then  come  and  live  with  us  ; 
and  we  would  either  get  you  a  husband  or  teach  you 
how  to  live  comfortably  without.  I  think  I  should  like 
to  have  you  always  to  the  end  of  our  lives  living  with  us  ; 
and  I  do  not  know  any  reason  why  that  should  not  be, 
except  for  the  great  fancy  you  seem  to  have  for  marrying, 
which  after  all  is  but  a  hazardous  kind  of  an  affair  :  but, 
however,  do  as  you  like  ;  every  man  knows  best  what 
pleases  himself  best. 

I  have  known  many  single  men  I  should  have  liked  in 
my  life  (if  it  had  suited  them)  for  a  husband  :  but  very 
few  husbands  have  I  ever  wished  was  mine,  which  is 


268  MARY    LAMB 

rather  against  the  state  in  general  ;  but  one  never  is 
disposed  to  envy  wives  their  good  husbands.  So  much 
for  marrying — but,  however,  get  married,  if  you  can. 

I  say  we  shall  not  come  and  see  you,  and  I  feel  sure  we 
shall  not :  but,  if  some  sudden  freak  was  to  come  into 
our  wayward  heads,  could  you  at  all  manage  ?—  your 
mother  we  should  not  mind,  but  I  think  still  it  would 
be  so  vastly  inconvenient.  I  am  certain  we  shall  not 
come,  and  yet  you  may  tell  me,  when  you  write,  if  it 
would  be  horribly  inconvenient  if  we  did  ;  and  do  not 
tell  me  any  lies,  but  say  truly  whether  you  would  rather 
we  did  or  not. 

God  bless  you,  my  dearest  Sarah  !  I  wish  for  your 
sake  I  could  have  written  a  very  amusing  letter  ;  but  do 
not  scold,  for  my  head  aches  sadly.  Don't  mind  my 
headache,  for  before  you  get  this  it  will  be  well,  being 
only  from  the  pains  of  my  jaws  and  teeth.  Farwel. 

Yours  affectionately, 

M.  LA.MB. 


Mary  Lamb  to  Miss  Barbara  Betham 

CHARLES    LAMB    AND    HIS    STUDY 

November  2,   1814. 

It  is  very  long  since  I  have  met  with  such  an  agreeable 
surprise  as  the  sight  of  your  letter,  my  kind  young 
friend,  afforded  me.  Such  a  nice  letter  as  it  is  too. 
And  what  a  pretty  hand  you  write.  I  congratulate  you 
on  this  attainment  with  great  pleasure,  because  I  have 
so  often  felt  the  disadvantage  of  my  own  wretched 
handwriting. 

You  wish  for  London  news.     I  rely  upon  Sister  Ann 


LOOKING    BACK  269 

for  gratifying  you  in  this  respect,  yet  I  have  been 
endeavouring  to  recollect  whom  you  might  have  seen 
here,  and  what  may  have  happened  to  them  since,  and 
this  effort  has  only  brought  the  image  of  little  Barbara 
Betham,  unconnected  with  any  other  person,  so  strongly 
before  my  eyes  that  I  seem  as  if  I  had  no  other  subject 
to  write  upon.  Now  I  think  I  see  you  with  your  feet 
propped  up  on  the  fender,  your  two  hands  spread  out 
upon  your  knees — an  attitude  you  always  chose  when 
we  were  in  familiar  confidential  conversation  together 
— telling  me  long  stories  of  your  own  home,  where 
now  you  say  you  are  "  moping  on  with  the  same  thing 
every  day,"  and  which  then  presented  nothing  but 
pleasant  recollections  to  your  mind.  How  well  I 
remember  your  quiet  steady  face  bent  over  your  book. 
One  day,  conscience-struck  at  having  wasted  so  much 
of  your  precious  time  in  readings,  and  feeling  yourself, 
as  you  prettily  said  "  quite  useless  to  me,"  you  went 
to  my  drawers  and  hunted  out  some  unhemmed  pocket- 
handkerchiefs,  and  by  no  means  could  I  prevail  upon 
you  to  resume  your  story  books  till  you  had  hemmed 
them  all.  I  remember,  too,  your  teaching  my  little 
maid  to  read — your  sitting  with  her  a  whole  evening 
to  console  her  for  the  death  of  her  sister  ;  and  that 
she  in  her  turn  endeavoured  to  become  a  comfort  to 
you  the  next  evening  when  you  wept  at  the  sight  of 
Mrs.  Holecroft,  from  whose  school  you  had  recently 
eloped  because  you  were  not  partial  to  sitting  in  the 
stocks.  Those  tears,  and  a  few  you  once  dropped  when 
my  brother  teased  you  about  your  supposed  fondness 
for  apple  dumplings,  were  the  only  interruptions  to  the 
calm  contentedness  of  your  unclouded  brow.  We  still 
remain  the  same  as  you  left  us,  neither  better  nor  wiser, 


2;o  MARY    LAMB 

nor  perceptibly  older,  but  three  years  must  have  made 
a  great  alteration  in  you.  How  very  much,  dear 
Barbara,  I  should  like  to  see  you  ! 

We  still  live  in  Temple  Lane,  but  I  am  not  sitting 
in  a  room  you  never  saw.  Soon  after  you  left  us  we 
were  distressed  by  the  cries  of  a  cat,  which  seemed  to 
proceed  from  the  garrets  adjoining  to  ours,  and  only 
separated  from  ours  by  the  locked  door  on  the  farther 
side  of  my  brother's  bedroom,  which  you  know  was 
the  little  room  at  the  top  of  the  kitchen  stairs.  We 
had  the  lock  forced  and  let  poor  puss  out  from  behind 
a  panel  of  the  wainscot,  and  she  lived  with  us  from 
that  time,  for  we  were  in  gratitude  bound  to  keep  her, 
as  she  had  introduced  us  to  four  untenanted  unowned 
rooms,  and  by  degrees  we  have  taken  possession  of 
these  unclaimed  apartments — first  putting  up  lines  to 
dry  our  clothes,  then  moving  my  brother's  bed  into 
one  of  these,  more  commodious  than  his  own  room. 
And  last  winter,  my  brother  being  unable  to  pursue  a 
work  he  had  begun,  owing  to  the  kind  interruptions  of 
friends  who  were  more  at  leisure  than  himself,  I  per- 
suaded him  that  he  might  write  at  his  ease  in  one  of 
these  rooms,  as  he  could  not  then  hear  the  door  knock, 
or  hear  himself  denied  to  be  at  home,  which  was  sure 
to  make  him  call  out  and  convict  the  poor  maid  in  a 
fib.  Here,  I  said,  he  might  be  almost  really  not  at 
home.  So  I  put  in  an  old  grate,  and  made  him  a  fire  in 
the  largest  of  these  garrets,  and  carried  in  one  table 
and  one  chair,  and  bid  him  write  away,  and  consider 
himself  as  much  alone  as  if  he  were  in  some  lodging 
on  the  midst  of  Salisbury  Plain,  or  any  other  wide 
unfrequented  place  where  he  could  expect  few  visitors  to 
break  in  upon  his  solitude.  I  left  him  quite  delighted 


LAMB'S    STUDY  271 

with  his  new  acquisition,  but  in  a  few  hours  he  came 
down  again  with  a  sadly  dismal  face.  He  could  do 
nothing,  he  said,  with  those  bare  whitewashed  walls 
before  his  eyes.  He  could  not  write  in  that  dull  un- 
furnished prison. 

The  next  day,  before  he  came  home  from  his  office, 
I  had  gathered  up  various  bits  of  old  carpeting  to 
cover  the  floor  ;  and,  to  a  little  break  the  blank  look 
of  the  bare  walls,  I  hung  up  a  few  old  prints  that  used 
to  ornament  the  kitchen,  and  after  dinner,  with  great 
boast  of  what  an  improvement  I  had  made,  I  took 
Charles  once  more  into  his  new  study.  A  week  of  busy 
labour  followed,  in  which  I  think  you  would  not  have 
disliked  to  have  been  our  assistant.  My  brother  and 
I  almost  covered  the  walls  with  prints,  for  which  purpose 
he  cut  out  every  print  from  every  book  in  his  old  library, 
coming  in  every  now  and  then  to  ask  my  leave  to  strip 
a  fresh  poor  author — which  he  might  not  do,  you  know, 
without  my  permission,  as  I  am  elder  sister.  There 
was  such  pasting,  such  consultation  where  their  por- 
traits, and  where  a  series  of  pictures  from  Ovid,  Milton, 
and  Shakespeare  would  show  to  most  advantage,  and 
in  what  obscure  corner  authors  of  humbler  note  might 
be  allowed  to  tell  their  stories.  All  the  books  gave 
up  their  stories  but  one — a  translation  from  Ariosto — a 
delicious  set  of  four-and-twenty  prints,  and  for  which 
I  had  marked  out  a  conspicuous  place  ;  when  lo  ! 
we  found  at  the  moment  the  scissors  were  going  to 
work  that  a  part  of  the  poem  was  printed  at  the  back 
of  every  picture.  What  a  cruel  disappointment  !  To 
conclude  this  long  story  about  nothing,  the  poor  despised 
garret  is  now  called  the  print-room,  and  is  become  our 
most  favourite  sitting-room.  Your  sister  Anne  will 


272  MARY    LAMB 

tell  you  that  your  friend  Louisa  is  going  to  France. 
Miss  Skipper  is  out  of  town  ;  Mrs.  Reynolds  desires  to  be 
remembered  to  you,  and  so  does  my  neighbour  Mrs. 
Norris,  who  was  your  doctress  when  you  were  unwell. 
Her  three  little  children  have  grown  three  big  children. 
The  lions  still  line  Exeter  'Change.  Returning  home 
through  the  Strand,  I  often  hear  them  roar  about 
twelve  o'clock  at  night.  I  never  hear  them  without 
thinking  of  you,  because  you  seemed  so  pleased  with 
the  sight  of  them,  and  said  your  young  companions 
would  stare  when  you  told  them  you  had  seen  a  lion. 
And  now,  my  dear  Barbara,  farewell ;  I  have  not 
written  such  a  long  letter  a  long  time,  but  I  am  very 
sorry  I  had  nothing  amusing  to  write  about.  Wishing 
you  may  pass  happily  through  the  rest  of  your  school 
days,  and  every  day  of  your  life, 

I  remain,  your  affectionate  friend, 

M.  LAMB. 

My  brother  sends  his  love  to  you  [and  was  as  much 
pleased]  with  the  kind  remembrance  your  letter  shewed 
you  have  of  us  as  I  was.  He  joins  with  me  in  respects 
to  your  good  father  and  mother.  Now  you  have  begun, 
I  shall  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  from  you 
again.  I  shall  always  receive  a  letter  from  you  with 
very  great  delight. 

ANGELICA   KAUFFMANN,    R.A.   (1741-1807) 

THE  famous  painter,  was  one  of  the  first  Royal  Academicians. 
She  was  talented,  beautiful,  and  a  musician,  and  is  said  to 
have  cherished  a  romantic  regard  for  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
Lady  Thackeray  has  made  her  the  heroine  of  her  story,  "  Miss 
Angel."  Miss  Kauffmann  was  twice  married  and  died  in 
Rome. 


TIVOLI  273 

To  a  Friend 

RUINS    AT   TIVOLI 

ROME,  June  7,  1806. 

.  .  .  My  kindest  and  warmest  thanks  have  this  time 
been  longer  delayed  on  account  of  a  little  excursion 
made  in  the  country.     I  passed  near  three  weeks  in 
Tivoli,   about  twenty  miles  from  Rome  ;    a  charming 
place,   so  much  sung  and  praised  by  Horace,    where 
he  had  his  villa — of  which  however  little  or  nothing 
remains — more  is  yet  to  be  seen  of  the  villa  of  Mecaenas 
— and  the  villa    Adriana — and    some  others — but  de- 
structive time  has  reduced  all  to  the  pleasure  of  imagina- 
tion— perhaps  a  melancholy  pleasure,  to  see  only  some 
poor  remains  of  the  greatest  magnificence.     Oh  that 
you,  my  worthy  friend,  could  see  this  place,  or  that 
I  could  once  more  have  the  happiness  to  see  you  in 
dear  England,  to  which  my  heart  is  so  much  attached, 
and  where  I  should  once  more  see  you,   my  worthy 
friend,    with   the    greatest   joy.     Too   happy  should    I 
think  myself  to  be  myself  the  bearer  of  the  picture 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  executing  for  you.     In  peaceable 
times  it  would  not,  perhaps,  have  been  amongst  the 
impossible    things.     Could    I,    however,    find    in    the 
meantime  a  safe  opportunity  to    get   it  conveyed    to 
you,  I  should  certainly  not  lose  it,  as  I  long  you  should 
have  at  least  this  small  token  of  my  gratitude  for  the 
many  and  numberless  obligations,   for  all  the  favours 
you  continue  to  bestow  upon  me.     It  makes  me  very 
happy  to  know  that  you  and  all  your  relations  are  well : 
be  so  kind  as  ;to  remember  me  to  them  in  the  most 
respectful  manner.     I  conclude  this  returning  you  my 
most  grateful  thanks.     I  beg  for  the  continuance  of 

18 


274  ANGELICA    KAUFFMANN 

your   friendship :     and   have   the  honour    to   be,    with 
the  greatest  esteem  and  gratitude, 

Your  most  obliged  humble  servant  and  friend, 

ANGELICA  KAUFFMANN. 


Angelica  Kauffmann,  R.A.,  to  a  Friend 

A    HOLIDAY    LETTER 

ALBANO,  September  20,  1806. 

Before  this  reaches  your  hands  Mr.  B ,    to  whom 

I  wrote  the  beginning  of  this  month,  I  hope,  according 
to  my  request,  has  informed  you  that  I  have,  in  due 
time,  received  your  obliging  favour.  ...  I  find  myself 
in  this  delightful  place  since  the  2oth  of  August  last. 
This  change  of  air  was  necessary  for  the  better  restora- 
tion of  my  health,  which  has  so  much  suffered  by  the 
long -lasting  rheumatic  pains  I  suffered  in  my  breast ; 
but  now,  thank  God  !  this  air  has  been  so  beneficial 
to  me,  that  all  my  complaints  are  vanished,  and  my 
spirits  recovered. 

I  hope  this  will  find  you  and  all  those  that  are  dear 
to  you  in  perfect  health  :  remember  me  to  them  most 
affectionately.  All  hopes  of  peace,  I  fear,  are  vanished. 
I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  many  reasons.  The  picture  was  and 
is  ready  for  exportation.  I  shall  remain  in  this  place 
all  this  month,  if  the  weather  continues  good,  and 
perhaps  part  of  the  next.  The  situation  is  beautiful ; 
but  we  are  now  and  then  visited  with  some  shocks 
of  earthquake,  which  have  done  considerable  damage, 
in  most  of  the  neighbouring  places  ;  here  they  were 
not  very  sensible.  Thank  God  !  I  should  have  been 
much  alarmed. 


NAMING    THE    BABY  275 

Pardon  me  for  being  thus  tedious  to  you.  I  conclude, 
repeating  my  sincerest,  kindest,  and  warmest  thanks 
to  you  for  all  your  kindness,  for  all  the  attention  you 
have  for  me,  which  I  do  not  know  how  to  deserve. 
Nor  have  I  words  to  express  the  sincere  attachment 
with  which  I  am,  and  shall  be  as.  long  as  I  exist, 
Your  truly  obliged,  humble  servant  and 

most  affectionate  friend, 

ANGELICA  KAUFFMANN. 


DOROTHY   WORDSWORTH   (1771-1855) 

ONLY  sister  of  the  poet  William  Wordsworth.  In  her  journal 
can  be  traced  some  of  the  germs  which  were  developed  by  her 
brother  into  some  of  his  most  exquisite  poetry  such  as  his 
Daffodils.  Wordsworth  once  said  of  her  "  She  gave  me  eyes, 
she  gave  me  ears."  In  1832  she  had  a  severe  illness,  from 
which  she  never  entirely  recovered. 


To  Lady  Beaumont  x 

NAMING   THE    BABY 

GRASMERE,  Tuesday  Evening,  June  17  [1806]. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — You  will  rejoice  with  us  in  my 
sister's  safety,  and  the  birth  of  a  son.     There  was  some- 
thing peculiarly  affecting  to  us  in  the  time  and  manner 

i  The  following  letters  of  Dorothy  Wordsworth  are  reprinted 
by  kind  permission  of  Professor  William  Knight,  from  his  editions 
of  the  Correspondence  of  the  Wordsworth  family,  published  in 
the  U.S.A. 


276  DOROTHY   WORDSWORTH 

of  this  child's  coming  into  the  world.  It  was  like  the 
very  same  thing  over  again  which  happened  three 
years  ago  ;  for  on  the  i8th  of  June,  on  such  another 
morning,  after  such  a  clear  and  starlight  night,  the 
birds  singing  in  the  orchard  in  full  assembly  as  on  this 
1 5th,  the  young  swallows  chirping  in  the  self-same 
nest  at  the  chamber  window,  the  rose-trees  rich  with 
roses  in  the  garden,  the  sun  shining  on  the  mountains, 
the  air  still  and  balmy — on  such  a  morning  was  Johnny 
born,  and  all  our  first  feelings  were  revived  at  the  birth 
of  his  brother  two  hours  later  in  the  day,  and  three 
days  earlier  in  the  month  ;  and  I  fancied  that  I  felt 
a  double  rushing-in  of  love  for  it,  when  I  saw  the  child, 
as  if  I  had  both  what  had  been  the  first-born  infant 
John's  share  of  love  to  give  it,  and  its  own.  We  said 
it  was  to  be  called  William  at  first,  but  we  have  since 
had  many  discussions  and  doubts  about  the  name  ; 
and  Southey,  who  was  here  this  morning,  is  decided 
against  William  ;  he  would  keep  the  father's  name 
distinct,  and  not  have  two  William  Wordsworihs.  It 
never  struck  us  in  this  way  ;  but  we  have  another 
objection  which  does  not  go  beyond  our  own  household 
and  our  own  particular  friends,  i.e.  that  my  brother 
is  always  called  William  amongst  us,  and  it  will  create 
great  confusion,  and  we  cannot  endure  the  notion  of 
giving  up  the  sound  of  a  name,  which,  applied  to  him, 
is  so  dear  to  us.  In  the  case  of  Dorothy  there  is  often 
much  confusion  ;  but  it  is  not  so  bad  as  it  would  be 
in  this  case,  and  besides,  if  it  were  only  equally  con- 
fusing, the  inconvenience  would  be  doubled.  Your 
kind  letter  to  my  brother  arrived  yesterday,  with  your 
sister's  most  interesting  account  of  her  sensations  on 
ascending  the  Mont  Denvers.1  I  shuddered  while  I. 


MOUNTAIN-CLIMBING  277 

read  ;  and  though  admiration  of  the  fortitude  with 
which  she  endured  the  agony  of  her  fear  was  the  upper- 
most sentiment,  I  could  not  but  slightly  blame  her  for 
putting  herself  into  such  a  situation,  being  so  well 
aware  of  her  constitutional  disposition  to  be  thus 
affected.  For  my  own  part,  I  do  think  that  I  should 
have  died  under  it,  and  nothing  could  prevail  upon  me 
to  undertake  such  an  expedition.  When  I  was  in  the 
whispering  gallery  at  St.  Paul's,  I  had  the  most  dreadful 
sensation  of  giddiness  and  fear  that  I  ever  experienced. 
I  could  not  move  one  foot  beyond  the  other,  and  I 
retired  immediately,  unable  to  look  down  ;  and  I  am 
sure  when  the  sense  of  personal  danger  should  be  added 
to  that  other  bodily  fear,  it  would  be  too  much  for  me  ; 
therefore  I  had  reason  to  sympathise  with  your  sister 
in  the  course  of  her  narrative. 

I  hope  you  will  find  the  inn  tolerably  comfortable, 
as  I  am  informed  that  one  of  the  upper  rooms,  which 
was  formerly  a  bedroom,  is  converted  into  a  sitting- 
room,  which  entirely  does  away  our  objections  to  the 
house  for  you — the  upper  rooms  being  airy  and  pleasant, 
and  out  of  the  way  of  noise.  Among  my  lesser  cares, 
and  hopes,  and  wishes,  connected  with  the  event  of 
your  coming  to  Grasmere,  the  desire  for  fine  weather 
is  uppermost ;  but  it  will  be  the  rainy  season  of  this 
country,  and  we  have  had  so  much  fine  and  dry  weather, 
that  we  must  look  forward  to  some  deduction  from  our 
comfort  on  that  score.  We  received  your  second  letter 
with  the  tidings  of  the  finding  of  the  Journal,  the  day 
after  we  had  received  the  first.  You  may  be  sure  we 
were  very  glad  it  was  found.  It  is  a  delicious  evening, 
and  after  my  confinement  to  the  house  for  these  two 
days  past  I  now  doubly  enjoy  the  quiet  of  the  moss- 


278  DOROTHY    WORDSWORTH 

hut   where    I    am    writing.      Adieu  !     Believe    me,    my 
dear  Lady  Beaumont,  your  affectionate  friend, 

D.  WORDSWORTH. 

I  have  expressed  myself  obscurely  about  our  objec- 
tions to  calling  the  child  by  William's  name.1  I  meant 
that  we  should  not  like  to  call  him  but  as  we  have 
been  used  to  do.  I  could  not  change  William  for 
Brother  in  speaking  familiarly,  and  his  wife  could  not 
endure  to  call  him  Mr.  Wordsworth.  Dorothy  is  in 
ecstasies  whenever  she  sees  her  little  brother,  and  she 
talks  about  him  not  only  the  day  through,  but  in  her 
dreams  at  night,  "  Baby,  baby  !  " 


Dorothy  Wordsworth  to  Lady  Beaumont 

THE   PRESENT    OF   BOOKS 

GRASMERE,  June  24,  1806. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  begin  my  letter  with  an  expecta- 
tion of  being  summoned  at  every  moment  to  deliver 
it  up,  along  with  others  which  I  have  been  writing, 
to  my  brother  and  Miss  Hutchinson,  who  are  going 
to  meet  the  post  at  Rydal ;  but  I  cannot  omit  informing 
you  how  we  go  on,  as  I  know  you  will  be  anxious  about 
us  ;  besides,  we  have  received  the  box,  etc.  ;  and  it  is 
fit  that  I  should  release  your  mind  of  all  further  care 
respecting  its  contents,  which  came  in  perfect  safety, 
and  have  given  general  satisfaction,  and  great  joy  to 
your  god-daughter  (for  poor  Johnny  is  not  here  to 
look  at  the  beautiful  library  which  you  have  sent  him) ; 

1  The  child  was  christened  Thomas. 


THE    GODMOTHER  279 

but  could  you  see  Dorothy,  how  she  spreads  her  hands 
and  arms,  and  how  she  exclaims  over  each  book,  as 
she  takes  it  from  the  case,  and  the  whole  together — • 
such  a  number  !  (when  by  special  favour  she  is  per- 
mitted to  view  them),  then  you  would  indeed  be  repaid 
for  the  trouble  and  pains  you  have  taken  !  She  lifts 
her  arms,  and  shouts  and  dances,  and  calls  out,  "  Johnny, 
book !  Dear  godmother  sent  Johnny  book !  "  She 
looks  upon  them  as  sacred  to  Johnny,  and  does  not 
attempt  to  abuse  them.  She  is  also  very  much  de- 
lighted with  her  little  almanack,  but  not  in  such  an 
enthusiastic  manner  ;  for  I  never  saw  anything  like  her 
joy  over  the  whole  library  of  books.  But  enough  of 
this.  I  spoil  a  pen  with  every  letter  I  write.  The 
binding  of  the  manuscript  destined  for  Coleridge  is 
exactly  to  our  minds,  and  Mr.  Tufnn  is  not  only  forgiven 
but  we  feel  a  little  compunction  for  the  reproaches 
which  slipped  from  us  when  we  supposed  it  to  be 
lost. 

I  am  called  for.     My  brother  and  Miss  Hutchinson 
are  ready.     Adieu  !     Yours  ever, 

D.  WORDSWORTH. 


SUSAN  FERRIER   (1792-1854) 

DAUGHTER  of  Mr.  Feriier,  agent  to  the  Duke  of  Argyll 
at  Inverary  and  Rosneath.  Her  first  novel  was  written 
jointly  with  Miss  Clavering,  a  niece  of  the  Duke's,  Miss 
Clavering,  however,  contributing  only  one  chapter.  Scott 
was  a  great  admirer  of  Miss  Ferrier,  praising  her  work  and 
also  her  liveliness  and  conversational  powers.  Her  three 
novels,  "  Marriage,"  "  The  Inheritance,"  and  "  Destiny,"  were 
all  published  anonymously,  and  enjoyed  great  popularity.  The 


280  SUSAN    FERRIER 

speculation  regarding  the  authorship  of  her  novels  led  to 
Sir  Walter  Scott  being  credited  with  the  writing  of  them. 


To  Miss  Clavering l 

TOWN    OR   COUNTRY 

MY  DEAR  CHARLOTTE, — Had  you  asked  me  to  take 
Old  Nick  by  the  tail,  or  pull  the  man  o'  the  moon  by 
the  horns,  there's  no  saying  what  lengths  my  friendship 
might  have  carried  me  ;  but  really  to  expect  that  at 
this  gay  season  I  should  forsake  the  flaunting  town 
for  your  silent  glens  is  a  sacrifice  too  great  for  mere 
feminine  affection  !  Tis  what  the  most  presuming 
lover  would  hardly  dare  to  demand  from  the  most 
tender  mistress  ;  and  were  I  to  accord  thus  much  to 
friendship  what  would  I  leave  for  love  ?  You'll  allow 
I  could  not  carry  my  enthusiasm  to  a  higher  pitch  in 
this  world  than  to  undertake  such  a  journey  upon 
your  account,  and  the  consequences  would  be  that 
were  he  to  ask  me  to  accompany  him  on  a  jaunt  to 
the  next  it  would  be  thought  monstrous  disobliging  to 
refuse  !  This  must,  therefore,  prove  a  deathblow  to 
your  hopes,  as  it  must  be  evident  to  you  that  I  would 
only  undertake  such  a  thing  at  the  risk  of  my  life,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  little  casualties  of  coughs,  colds, 
etc.,  that  would  assail  me  in  the  course  of  my  travels, 
and  the  whole  formidable  host  of  the  materia  medica 
who  would  be  drawn  up  to  oppose  my  progress.  I've 
made  no  mention  of  the  many  delights  I  should  leave 

i  The  following  letters  of  Susan  Ferrier  are  reprinted  from 
her  "  Memoir  and  Correspondence,"  by  Mr.  John  Ferrier,  edited 
by  Mr.  J.  A.  Doyle,  by  permission  of  the  publisher,  Mr.  John 
Murray. 


THE    INITIATION  281 

behind,  because  I  should  be  loath  to  mortify  you  by 
the  comparison  of  my  superior  enjoyments  ;  but  allow 
me  just  to  hint  to  you  that  dirty  streets  are  not  to  be 
exchanged  for  dry  gravel  walks,  that  black  kennels  are 
rather  more  pleasing  to  the  eye  than  blue  rivers,  that 
the  scrapings  of  a  blind  fiddler  are  full  as  melodious  as 
the  chirpings  of  a  starved  robin,  that  the  flavour  of 
stinking  herrings  is  more  satisfying  (to  the  stomach) 
than  the  smell  of  seaweed,  and  that  the  sight  of  clothed 
men  is  as  gladdening  to  the  heart  as  the  view  of  naked 
trees  !  But  to  leave  off  fooling,  and  be  serious  on  a 
subject  on  which,  believe  me  I  only  jest  because  I  can 
say  nothing  to  the  purpose — how  could  you  have  the 
cruelty,  not  only  to  tantalise  me  with  the  proposal, 
but  also  to  insinuate  that  it  would  be  my  own  fault 
were  it  not  accepted  ! 

My  dear  Charlotte,  I  think  you  have  known  me 
long  enough  to  know  that  it  is  not  my  practice  to  make 
professions  to  any  one,  and  I  hope  you  will  therefore 
believe  I  say  no  more  than  I  feel  when  I  declare  to 
you  that  had  I  my  choice  at  this  moment,  of  going  to 
any  quarter  of  the  globe  or  part  of  the  kingdom,  I  would 
without  hesitation  choose  to  be  with  you.  I  have 
no  bosom  friend  out  of  my  own  family  save  you  alone 
(if  such  you'll  allow  me  to  reckon  you),  and  my  sisters 
are  now  so  engrossed,  with  their  respective  husbands 
and  children,  that  their  society  is  no  longer  to  me  what 
it  was  wont  to  be.  I  have,  therefore,  no  great  merit, 
you  see,  in  preferring  your  company  to  that  of  any 
other  person,  even  setting  aside  the  similarity  of  our 
tastes  and  pursuits,  which  of  itself  would  be  a  more 
and  never  failing  source  of  pleasure  and  enjoyment. 
But  alas  !  such  pleasures  must  never  be  mine. 


1282  SUSAN    FERRIER 

I'm  doomed  to  doze  away  my  days  by  the  side  of 
my  solitary  fire  and  to  spend  my  nights  in  the  tender 
intercourse  of  all  the  old  tabbies  in  the  town.  In 
truth,  your  solitude  is  not  a  whit  greater  than  mine, 
unless  you  reckon  sound  society — of  that  I  own  I  have 
enough.  But  somehow  I  don't  feel  my  spirits  a  bit 
exhilarated,  my  ideas  at  all  enlivened,  or  my  under- 
standing enlightened  by  the  rattling  of  carriages  or 
the  clanking  of  chains ;  and  these  be  the  only  mortal 
sounds  that  meet  my  ears.  As  to  conversation,  that's 
quite  out  of  the  question  at  this  season  ;  in  the  dull 
summer  months  people  may  find  time  to  sit  down 
and  prose  and  talk  sense  a  little,  but  at  present  they 
have  something  else  to  do  with  their  time.  My  father 
I  never  see,  save  at  meals,  but  then  my  company  is 
just  as  indispensable  as  the  tablecloth  or  chairs,  or, 
in  short,  any  other  luxury  which  custom  has  converted 
into  necessity.  That  he  could  live  without  me  I  make 
no  doubt,  so  he  could  without  a  leg  or  an  arm,  but 
it  would  ill  become  me  to  deprive  him  of  either  ;  there- 
fore, never  even  for  a  single  day  could  I  reconcile  it 
either  to  my  duty  or  inclination  to  leave  him.  There- 
fore, my  dear  friend,  believe  what  you  are  kind  enough 
to  ask  is  for  me  impossible  to  accord. 

Susan  Ferrier  to  Miss  Clavering 

A   DOG   STORY 

And  then  I  believe  we  shall  go  by  Tay mouth  and 

farther  and  farther  and   farther  than   I   can  tell,  till 

at  last  we  will  come  to  a  fine  Castle,  and  a  beautiful 

Ladie  x  called  the  Queen  of  the  Dogs.     Do  you  know 

Miss  Clavering. 


FEMININE    SOCIETY  283 

her  ?     Apropos  of  dogs,  you  had  very  near  been  the 
death  of  my  darling,  as  you  shall  hear. 

AIR — MAID     IN    BEDLAM 

One  morning  very  lately,  one  morning  in  June, 

I  rose  very  early  and  went  into  the  toon. 

My  doggie  walked  behind  me,  behind  me  walked  he, 

For  I  love  my  dog  because  I  know  my  dog  loves  me  ! 

Oh  !  cruel  was  Miss  Clavering  to  send  me  to  the  street ; 
She  sent  me  for  to  buy  silk  hosen  for  her  feet. 
And  there  my  leetle  dog  a  great  big  dog  did  spye, 
And  I  love  my  dog  because  I  know  my  dog  loves  I. 

No  sooner  did  my  leetle  dog  the  meikle  dog  behold 
Than  at  him  he  did  fly  like  any  lion  bold. 
It  was  a  sad  and  piteous  sight  for  tender  eyes  to  see  ; 
For  I  love  my  dog  because  I  know  my  doggie  loves  me. 

Oh  !  sore  did  I  screech  and  loudly  did  I  pray 
For  some  kind  stick  to  drive  the  meikle  dog  away. 
I  never  shall  forget  my  fright  until  the  day  I  dee, 
For  I  love  my  dog  because  I  know  my  dog  loves  me. 

And  when  I  got  my  leetle  dog  his  hind  leg  was  bit  thro', 
And  as  he  could  not  walk  I  knew  not  what  to  do. 
At  length  I  spied  a  coachman,  beside  a  coach  stood  he, 
And  I  love  my  dog  because  I  know  my  dog  loves  me. 

And  I  called  to  me  the  coachman,  and  unto  him  did  say, 
Lift  my  dog  into  your  coach  and  then  drive  away. 
The  coachman  looked  full  scornful  till  I  showed  a  silver  key, 
And  I  love  my  dog  because  I  k-n-o-w  .  .  my  dog-g-y  lo-ves 
m-e  (da  capo). 

This  is  a  true  and  faithful  account,  and  should  be 


284  SUSAN    FERRIER 

a  warning  to  all  ladies  how  they  walk  the  streets  with 
little  doggies.  Mine,  I  assure  you,  suffered  severely  in 
your  service,  and  though  his  wound  is  now  healed,  I 
think  his  general  health  is  considerably  impaired  by 
the  shock  his  nerves  must  have  experienced.  The 
medical  people  are  of  opinion  sea  bathing  might  prove 
of  benefit  to  him.  I  say  nothing,  but  if  you  have  a 
spoonful  of  marrow  in  your  bones  you'll  sit  down  before 
you  read  another  word  and  pen  him  a  handsome  in- 
vitation. As  for  the  eighteen  pence  it  cost  me  for 
coach  hire,  I  shall  let  that  pass,  as  I  never  expect  to 
see  it  again.  As  for  the  airs  you  give  yourself  about 
wearing  white  silk  stockings  I  like  that  mightily — 
you've  a  pair  of  good  white  satin  ones  of  your  own 
spinning,  that  will  stand  both  wear  and  tear,  and  never 
lose  their  colour  by  washing,  so  you  must  e'en  make 
them  serve  you  through  the  summer,  for  none  other 
will  I  send.  I  sent  to  Bessie  Mure  desiring  her  to 
surrender  up  her  cheap  gloves,  as  I  looked  upon  him 
as  a  much  more  desirable  thing  than  a  dear  lover,  so 
she  made  answer  that  she  knew  of  no  cheap  men,  but 
she  directed  me  to  where  I  could  get  good  gloves  at 
is.  4^.  per  pair.  Well,  away  I  trotted,  resolved  to 
become  hand  in  glove  with  this  pattern  glover.  So 
I  went  into  the  shop. 

"  Show  me  some  good  stout  ladies'  gloves,"  quoth  I. 

So  he  took  down  a  parcel  and  gave  me  them  to  try  ; 

I  picked  out  a  dozen  of  pairs  and  said,  "  Now  I'm  willing 

To  take  all  these  if  you'll  give  me  them  at  the  shilling." 

Then  the  glover  clasped  his  hands  and  said,   "  Madame,  I 

declare 
I  could  not  sell  those  gloves  for  less  than  three  shillings  a 

pair." 


FASHIONS  IN  HOSIERY  285 

So  I  said  "  I  was  told  you  had  very  good  gloves  at  sixteen- 

pence, 
And  your  asking   three  shillings  for  these   must  be   all   a 

pretence  !  " 

Then  he  brought  forth  a  huge  bundle  and  opened  it  out ; 
"  These  ma'am,  are  the  gloves  made  from  the  hide  of  a  trout, 
But  no  more  to  compare  with  the  skin  of  a  kid  or  dog 
Than  the  breast  of  a  chicken  to  the  back  of  a  hog." 
So,  having  nothing  to  reply  to  a  simile  so  sublime, 
I  was  glad  to  sneak  off  and  say  I  would  come  back  when  I 

had  more  time, 
And  I  swear  that's  as  true  as  I  am  now  writing  rime. 


Susan  Ferrier  to  Miss  Clavering 

THE    NEW   COOK 

[No  date.] 

MY  DEAR  CHATTY, — It  seems  I  am  not  to  go  to  the  devil 
with  a  dish-clout  at  this  time,  for  from  a  sorry  kitchen 
wench  I'm  now  transformed  into  a  gay  ladye,  and 
instead  of  staying  at  home  to  dress  dinners  I  do  nothing 
but  go  about  devouring  them.  In  plain  terms,  I  have 
got  a  cook,  a  very  bad  one,  but  better  than  none,  and 
I've  invested  her  with  all  the  regalia  of  the  kitchen, 
and  given  her  absolute  dominion  over  the  fish  of  the 
sea,  and  the  fowls  of  the  air,  and  the  cattle  of  the  earth, 
and  over  every  creeping  thing  that  creepeth  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  I  have  not  a  minute  to  speak  to  you, 
for  really  I  do  nothing  but  go  out  to  my  dinner,  and 
I'd  a  thousand  times  rather  eat  a  raw  turnip  at  home 
as  go  to  a  feast  abroad  and  play  at  ladies  and  gentlemen 
all  in  a  row  ;  but  our  career  ends  this  week,  and  then 
we've  to  go  into  our  graves  and  bury  ourselves  alive 


286  SUSAN    FERRIER 

for  the  rest  of  the  winter  !  And  then  I  may  sit  and 
hatch  plots  and  compose  poems  as  long  as  to-day  and 
to-morrow  if  I  choose  !  The  very  pen  is  like  to  jump 
out  of  my  fingers  for  joy,  though  it  has  small  chance 
of  participating  in  these  glorious  achievements,  as  its 
race  is  very  nearly  run — and  a  weary  life  it  has  had 
under  me  it  must  be  owned.  Apropos,  what  would 
you  think  of  writing  the  life  and  adventures  of  a  pen  ? 
It  has  this  instant  flashed  upon  me  that  something 
might  be  made  of  such  a  subject.  Think  well  of  it, 
Miss,  and  you  shall  have  the  honour  of  beginning  the 
story  and  continuing  it,  and  if  that  won't  satisfy  you, 
shall  conclude  it  too.  As  to  your  poem,  I'm  sorry  I 
can't  serve  you,  but  you  might  just  as  well  have  seriously 
asked  me  to  compose  you  a  Latin  oration  better  than 
any  of  Cicero's  as  have  asked  me  to  write  verses  after 
Lady  Charlotte !  If  you  call  those  pitiful  doggerels 
(I  sent  you  in  an  access  of  folly)  poetry,  I'm  sorry 
for  you,  Miss  Clavering,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I  could 
not  write  poetry  if  my  life  depended  upon  it,  and  I 
never  even  wrote  a  single  jingle  of  a  rhyme  but  those 
I  have  sent  you  as  aforesaid.  To  be  sure  there  is  one 
encouraging  circumstance,  that  the  writer  of  them  is 
supposed  to  be  no  genius,  and  I'm  sure  anything  I  can 
send  will  afford  ample  confirmation,  if  any  is  required. 
I  enclose  you,  therefore,  the  beginning  of  a  thing  that 
I  shall  finish  if  you  think  it  will  do,  but  I  hope  you 
won't  stand  upon  the  least  ceremony  as  to  rejecting 
or  receiving  it  as  you  think  fit.  At  any  rate,  I  entreat 
you  won't  tell  Miss  Adair  that  it  is  mine,  because  God 
forbid  I  should  set  up  for  a  writer  of  poetry  !  I  would 
give  anything  to  see  your  novel  :  do  send  me  a  morsel 
of  it,  I'm  sure  I  shall  like  it ;  and  you  really  could  not 


POETRY    AND    JINGLE  287 

do  me  such  a  favour  as  to  initiate  me  into  the  mysteries 
of  your  imaginations.  When  will  you  be  ready  to 
join  hands  with  me  ?  I've  just  seen  Lord  John  about 
half  a  minute  since  he  came  here  ;  Bessie  Mure  keeps 
him  in  her  reticule  and  never  lets  anybody  get  a  peep 
at  him  :  they  dined  here  on  Monday,  but  they  got 
such  a  beastly  repast,  and  were  so  scurvily  treated, 
that  I've  been  sick  ever  since  with  pure  shame  and 
vexation  of  stomach. 


Susan  Femer  to  Miss  Clavering 

THE    CHOICE    OF   TWO    EVILS 

[1816.] 

I  relent ;  here  is  a  letter  for  you,  so  dry  your  eyes, 
wipe  your  nose,  and  promise  to  be  a  good  child,  and 
I  shall  forgive  you  for  this  time.  I'm  sure  you  must 
be  very  sorry  for  having  displeased  me,  for  I  know 
my  friendship  is  the  only  thing  in  the  world  you  care 
about ;  everything  else  compared  to  it  is  as  cold  porridge 
to  turtle  soup.  Tell  me  how  you  have  sped  in  the 
long  night  of  my  silence.  Did  not  the  sun  appear  to 
you  like  an  old  coal  basket,  and  the  heavens  as  a  wet 
blanket  ?  Was  not  the  moon  invisible  to  your  weeping 
eyes  ?  Were  not  the  fields  to  your  distempered  fancy 
without  verdure,  and  the  boughs  without  blossoms  ? 
And  did  not  the  birds  refuse  to  sing,  and  the  lambs 
to  dance  ?  Did  not  the  wind  sometimes  seem  to  sigh 
and  the  dogs  to  howl  ?  All  these  and  a  thousand 
such  prodigies  I  know  have  appeared  to  you  in  the 
long  interval  of  my  silence  ;  but  now  the  spell  is  broken, 
and  all  these  fearful  visions  will  vanish  ;  you  will  see 


2SS  SUSAN    FERRIER 

the  sun  break  out  as  yellow  as  your  hair,  and  the  moon 
shine  as  white  as  your  hand  ;    the  fields  will  grow  as 
green  as  grass  in  December,  and  the  birds  will  dance 
waltzes  all  the  way  before  you  from  the  post-office  ; 
you  will  taste  of  five  more  dishes  at  dinner  to  testify 
your  joy,  and  you  will  toss  off  an  additional  glass  of 
ale  in  honour  of  every  sentence  I  shall  indite.     You 
would  hear  how   Lady  Charlotte  had   tarried   in  this 
place  ten  days,  but  I  got  very  little  good  of  her.     She 
was  so  cherche  and  recherche.     She  dined  with  me  one 
day,  however,  and  had  John  Wilson  to  show  off  with, 
and  there  arose  a  question  whether  a  woman  of  a  right 
way  of  thinking  would  not  rather  be  stabbed  as  kicked  by 
her  husband  (observe  this  burn  hole,  Miss,  it  is  a  sure 
sign  that  either  you  or  I  are  going  to  be  married  ;    but 
keep    that   to    yourself,    and    excuse    this    parenthesis, 
which,  indeed,  is  rather  too  long,  but  I  hope  you  have 
not  such  an  antipathy  to  them  as  Dean  Swift  had  ;    he, 
honest  man  !  could  not  abide  the  sight  of  them,  which 
was   certainly   a   prejudice   on   his   part ;     for  mine,    I 
think,  there  are  worse  things  in  the  world  than  paren- 
theses).    But  to  return  to  where  I  was  (which,  indeed, 
is  not  such  an  easy  matter,  as  I  must  turn  the  page 
to  see  where  I  left  off  ;    it  was  at  the  burnt  hole,  and 
here  I  am  just  coming  upon  another,  which  looks  as 
if  we  were  both  going  to  be  wed  ;    I  wonder  who  it  will 
be  to  !)     I  am  for  a  stabber,  but  I  dare  say  you  will 
be  for  putting  up  with  a  kicker.     It  was  talking  of 
Lord    Byron    brought    on    the    question.     I    maintain 
there  is  but  one  crime  a  woman  could  never  forgive 
in  her  husband,  and  that  is  a  kucking.     Did  you  ever 
read  anything  so  exquisite  as  the  new  canto  of  "  Childe 
Harold  "  ?     It  is  enough  to  make  a  woman  fly  into 


"  CHILDE    HAROLD  "  289 

the  arms  of  a  tiger  ;    nothing  but  a  kick  could  ever 
have  hardened  her  heart  against  such  genius. 


ELIZABETH   INCHBALD  (1753-1821) 

ACTRESS  and  dramatist,  was  a  daughter  of  John  Simpson, 
a  Suffolk  farmer.  She  went  to  London  in  1772,  and  there 
married  Joseph  Inchbald,  an  actor.  In  1780  she  appeared 
at  Covent  Garden,  but  did  not  achieve  great  success  until 
nine  years  later,  when  she  began  to  write  plays.  She  also 
edited  a  voluminous  collection  of  British  dramatists,  and 
wrote  two  novels  :  "  A  Simple  Story  "  and  "  Nature  and  Art.' 


To  Mrs.  Phillips 

THE    FIRE 

Sunday,  February  26,  1809. 

I  saw  nothing  of  the  conflagration  of  Covent  Garden 
Theatre,  but  was  a  miserable  spectator  of  all  the  horrors 
of  Drury  Lane.  I  went  to  bed  at  ten,  was  waked  at 
a  quarter  before  twelve,  and  went  into  the  front 
room  opposite  to  mine,  while  the  flames  were  surrounding 
the  Apollo  at  the  top  of  the  playhouse,  and  driven 
by  the  wind  towards  the  New  Church,  which  appeared 
every  moment  to  be  in  danger. 

I  love  sublime  and  terrific  sights,  but  this  was  so 
terrible  I  ran  from  it ;  and  in  my  own  room  was  aston- 
ished by  a  prospect  more  beautiful,  more  brilliantly 
and  calmly  celestial,  than  ever  met  my  eye.  No  appear- 
ance of  fire  from  my  window  except  the  light  of  its 
beams  ;  and  this  was  so  powerful,  that  the  river,  the 
houses  on  its  banks,  the  Surrey  Hills  beyond,  every 
boat  upon  the  water,  every  spire  of  a  church,  Somerset 

19 


290  ELIZABETH    INCHBALD 

House  and  its  terrace  on  this  side — all  looked  like 
one  enchanted  spot,  such  as  a  poet  paints,  in  colours 
more  bright  than  nature  ever  displayed  in  this  foggy 
island.  I  do  not  proceed  out  of  my  own  house  on 
this  subject,  for  the  newspaper  will  tell  you  all  the 
rest.  I  had  on  that  very  day  begun  to  read  a  book 
which  gratified  my  taste  and  my  opinions  very  much  ; 
it  contained  Sermons  in  favour  of  the  Stage.  I  was 
proud  to  find  a  clergyman  so  judicious  and  so  liberal 
on  this  topic.  You  will  be  surprised  to  find  that  this 
book  came  to  me  as  a  present  from  the  author,  when 
I  tell  you  that  his  name  is  Plumptre. 

This  puts  me  in  mind  of  indulging  my  vanity.  In 
my  profession  I  am  sometimes  idle  for  months  or  years  ; 
but,  when  I  resolve  on  writing,  I  earn  my  money  with 
speed.  No  resolution  of  the  kind  has  however  come  to 
me  of  late  ;  and  yet,  the  week  before  last,  I  earned 
fifty  guineas  in  five  minutes,  by  merely  looking  over 
a  catalogue  of  fifty  farces,  drawing  my  pen  across 
one  or  two,  and  writing  the  names  of  others  in  their 
place  :  and  now  all  those  in  that  catalogue  are  to  be 
printed  with  "  Selected  by  Mrs.  Inchbald  "  on  the 
title  page.  The  prodigious  sale  my  Prefaces  have  had 
has  tempted  the  booksellers  to  this  offer. 

E.  I. 


Mrs.  Inchbald  to  her  Sister 
A  WEEK'S  DIETARY 

.  .  .  Take  chocolate  for  breakfast.  If  you  be  faint, 
wine  and  toasted  bread  between  breakfast  and  dinner  ; 
and  thus  vary  your  dinner  each  day : — Sunday,  a  joint 


MRS.    INCHBALD'S    PREFACES          291 

of  meat ;  Monday,  two  lean  mutton  chops  boiled  but 
not  stewed,  with  an  onion,  a  turnip,  and  a  carrot ; 
Tuesday,  a  beef  steak,  preferably  beef  roasted  ;  Wednes- 
day, a  broiled  mutton  chop  ;  Thursday,  a  veal  cutlet  ; 
Friday,  stewed  oysters  or  eggs  ;  Saturday,  nice  boiled 
beef  from  the  cook's  shop,  or  a  pork  chop,  a  rabbit,  or 
anything  more  novel  you  can  think  of. 

Eat,  whenever  you  have  an  appetite,  but  never  eat 
too  heartily,  especially  of  different  things.  Have  cake 
or  what  you  please  at  tea  ;  a  light  supper  ;  but  go  to 
bed  satisfied,  or  you  will  not  sleep. 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  this  useful  toil, 
These  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure  ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  Story  of  the  poor. 


Mrs.  Inchbald  to  Mrs.  Phillips 

A    SELF-CONTAINED    FLAT 

.  .  .  My  present  apartment  is  so  small,  that  I  am 
all  over  black  and  blue  with  thumping  my  body  and 
limbs  against  my  furniture  on  every  side  :  but  then 
I  have  not  far  to  walk  to  reach  anything  I  want ;  for 
I  can  kindle  my  fire  as  I  lie  in  bed  ;  and  put  on  my  cap 
as  I  dine,  for  the  looking-glass  is  obliged  to  stand 
on  the  same  table  with  my  dinner.  To  be  sure,  if 
there  was  a  fire  in  the  night,  I  must  inevitably  be  burnt, 
for  I  am  at  the  top  of  the  house,  and  so  removed  from 
the  front  part  of  it,  that  I  cannot  hear  the  least  sound 
of  anything  from  the  street ;  but  then,  I  have  a  great 
deal  of  fresh  air  ;  more  daylight  than  most  people  in 
London,  and  the  enchanting  view  of  the  Thames,  the 


292  MARJORY    FLEMING 

Surrey  Hills,  and  of  three  windmills,  often  throwing  their 
giant  arms  about,  secure  from  every  attack  of  the 
Knight  of  the  woful  countenance.1 


MARJORY  FLEMING   (1803-1811) 

"  PET  MARJORY,"  whose  life  has  been  so  beautifully  told 
in  an  essay  by  Dr.  John  Brown.  She  was  idolised  by  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  and  was  constantly  with  him  during  her 
short  life,  which  was  lived  in  Edinburgh.  The  letters  and 
poems  of  this  lovable  little  girl  are  remarkable  productions 
for  so  young  a  child. 


To  Isabella  Keith 

A  CHILD'S  CORRESPONDENCE 

1809. 

MY  DEAR  ISA, — I  now  sit  down  to  answer  all  your 
kind  and  beloved  letters  which  you  was  so  good  as 
to  write  to  me.  This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  wrote  a 
letter  in  my  Life.  There  are  a  great  many  Girls  in  the 
Square  and  they  cry  just  like  a  pig  when  we  are  under 
the  painful  necessity  of  putting  it  to  Death.  Miss 
Potune  a  Lady  of  my  acquaintance  praises  me  dread- 
fully. I  repeated  something  out  of  Dean  Swift,  and 
she  said  I  was  fit  for  the  stage,  and  you  may  think 
I  was  primmed  up  with  majistick  Pride,  but  upon  my 
word  felt  myselfe  turn  a  little  birsay — birsay  is  a  word 
which  is  a  word  that  William  composed  which  is  as 
you  may  suppose  a  little  enraged.  This  horrid  fat  sim- 
pliton  says  that  my  Aunt  is  beautiful  which  is  intirely 
impossible  for  that  is  not  her  nature. 

1  Her  lodging  was  in  the  Strand. 


"PET    MARJORY"  293 

Marjory  Fleming  to  her  Mother 

September    1811. 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  MAMA, — I  was  truly  happy  to  hear 
that  you  were  all  well,  We  are  surrounded  with  measles 
at  present  on  every  side,  for  the  Herons  got  it,  and 
Isabella  Heron  was  near  Death's  Door,  and  one  night 
her  father  lifted  her  out  of  bed,  and  she  fell  down  as 
they  thought  lifeless.  Mr.  Heron  said, — "That  lassie's 
deed  noo."  "I'm  no  deed  yet."  She  then  threw  up 
a  big  worm  nine  inches  and  a  half  long.  I  have  begun 
dancing  but  am  not  very  fond  of  it,  for  the  boys  strikes 
and  mocks  me. — I  have  been  another  night  at  the 
dancing  ;  I  like  it  better.  I  will  write  to  you  as  often 
as  I  can  ;  but  I  am  afraid  not  every  week.  I  long  for 
you  with  the  longings  of  a  child  to  embrace  you — to  hold 
you  in  my  arms.  I  respect  you  with  all  the  respect 
due  to  a  mother.  You  don't  know  how  I  love  you. 
So  I  shall  remain,  your  loving  child, 

M.  FLEMING. 


Marjory  Fleming  to  her  Mother 

October  12,  1811. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — You  will  think  that  I  entirely 
forgot  you,  but  I  assure  you  that  you  are  greatly  mistaken. 
I  think  of  you  always  and  often  sigh  to  think  of  the 
distance  between  us  two  loving  creatures  of  nature. 
We  have  regular  hours  for  all  our  occupations,  first 
at  7  o'clock  we  go  to  the  dancing  and  come  home  at 
8,  we  then  read  our  Bible  and  get  our  repeating  and 
then  play  till  ten  then  we  get  our  music  till  n  when 
we  get  our  writing  and  accounts  we  sew  from  12  till 


294  MARJORY    FLEMING 

i,  after  which  I  get  my  gramer  and  then  work  till 
five.  At  7  we  come  and  knit  till  8  when  we  dont 
go  to  the  dancing.  This  is  an  exact  description.  I 
must  take  a  hasty  farewell  to  her  whom  I  love,  reverence 
and  doat  on,  and  who  I  hope  thinks  the  same  of 

MARJORY  FLEMING. 

P.S. — An  old  pack  of  cards  would  be  very  exeptible. 

JANE   AUSTEN   (1775-1817) 

WAS  born  at  Steventon  Rectory,  near  Basingstoke.  She 
was  carefully  educated  by  her  father,  the  Rev.  George  Austen, 
who  thought  highly  of  her  talents.  Her  first  published  novel, 
"Sense  and  Sensibility"  (1811),  was  followed  by  "Pride 
and  Prejudice,"  "  Mansfield  Park  "  and  "  Emma  "  (these 
four  were  anonymous)  ;  and  posthumously  "  Northanger 
Abbey  "  and  "  Persuasion."  She  died  at  Winchester  of 
consumption  at  the  age  of  forty-two. 

To  her  Sister  l 

"PRIDE  AND  PREJUDICE" 

CHAWTON,  Friday,  January  29  [1813]. 

I  hope  you  received  my  little  parcel  by  J.  Bond  on 
Wednesday  evening,  my  dear  Cassandra,  and  that 
you  will  be  ready  to  hear  from  me  again  on  Sunday, 
for  I  feel  that  I  must  write  to  you  to-day.  I  want 
to  tell  you  that  I  have  got  my  own  darling  child  from 
London.  On  Wednesday  I  received  one  copy  sent 
down  by  Falkener,  with  three  lines  to  say  that  he  had 
given  another  to  Charles  and  sent  a  third  by  the  coach 

i  This  letter  and  the  following  are  reprinted  by  the  courtesy 
of  Messrs.  Macmillan  &  Co.,  Ltd.,  from  "  A  Memoir  of  Jane  Austen," 
by  her  nephew,  Mr.  J.  E.  Austen-Leigh. 


"PRIDE    AND    PREJUDICE"  295 

to  Godmersham.  .  .  .  The  advertisement  is  in  our 
paper  to-day  for  the  first  time  :  185.  He  shall  ask 
£i  is.  for  my  two  next,  and  £i  8s.  for  my  stupidest 
of  all.  Miss  B.  dined  with  us  on  the  very  day  of  the 
book's  coming,  and  in  the  evening  we  fairly  set  at  it, 
and  read  half  the  first  vol.  to  her,  prefacing  that,  having 
intelligence  from  Henry  that  such  a  work  would  soon 
appear,  we  had  desired  him  to  send  it  whenever  it  came 
out,  and  I  believe  it  passed  with  her  unsuspected.  She 
was  amused,  poor  soul  !  That  she  could  not  help,  you 
know,  with  two  such  people  to  lead  the  way,  but  she 
really  does  seem  to  admire  Elizabeth.  I  must  confess 
that  I  think  her  as  delightful  a  creature  as  ever  appeared 
in  print,  and  how  I  shall  be  able  to  tolerate  those  who 
do  not  like  her  at  least  I  do  not  know.  There  are  a 
few  typical  errors  ;  and  a  "  said  he  "  or  a  "  said  she  " 
would  sometimes  make  the  dialogue  more  immediately 
clear;  but  "I  do  not  write  for  such  dull  elves"  as 
have  not  a  great  deal  of  ingenuity  themselves.  The 
second  volume  is  shorter  than  I  could  wish,  but  the 
difference  is  not  so  much  in  reality  as  in  look,  there 
being  a  larger  proportion  of  narrative  in  that  part. 
I  have  lop't  and  crop't  so  successfully,  however,  that 
I  imagine  it  must  be  rather  shorter  than  "  Sense  and 
Sensibility  "  altogether. 

Jane  Austen  to  J.  S.   Clarke,  Librarian  to  the  Prince 
Regent 

ROYAL   APPRECIATION 

CHAWTON,  near  ALTON,  April  i,  1816. 
MY  DEAR  SIR, — I  am  honoured  by  the  Prince's  thanks 
and  very  much  obliged  to  yourself  for  the  kind  manner 


296  JANE    AUSTEN 

in  which  you  mention  the  work.  I  have  also  to  acknow- 
ledge a  former  letter  forwarded  to  me  from  Hans  Place. 
I  assure  you  I  felt  very  grateful  for  the  friendly  tenor  of 
it,  and  hope  my  silence  will  have  been  considered,  as 
it  was  truly  meant,  to  proceed  only  from  an  unwilling- 
ness to  tax  your  time  with  idle  thanks.  Under  every 
interesting  circumstance  which  your  own  talents  and 
literary  labours  have  placed  you  in,  or  the  favour  of 
the  Regent  bestowed,  you  have  my  best  wishes.  Your 
recent  appointments  I  hope  are  a  step  to  something 
still  better.  In  my  opinion,  the  service  of  a  Court 
can  hardly  be  too  well  paid,  for  immense  must  be  the 
sacrifice  of  time  and  feeling  required  by  it. 

You  are  very  kind  in  your  hints  as  to  the  sort  of 
composition  which  might  recommend  me  at  present,  and 
I  am  fully  sensible  that  an  historical  romance  founded 
on  the  house  of  Saxe  Coburg  might  be  much  more 
to  the  purpose  of  profit  or  popularity  than  such  pictures 
of  domestic  life  in  country  villages  as  I  deal  in.  But 
I  could  no  more  write  a  romance  than  an  epic  poem. 
I  could  not  sit  seriously  down  to  write  a  serious  romance 
under  any  other  motive  than  to  save  my  life  ;  and 
if  it  were  indispensable  for  me  to  keep  it  up  and  never 
relax  into  laughing  at  myself  or  at  other  people,  I  am 
sure  I  should  be  hung  before  I  had  finished  the  first 
chapter.  No,  I  must  keep  to  my  own  style  and  go 
on  in  my  own  way ;  and  though  I  may  never  succeed 
again  in  that,  I  am  convinced  that  I  should  totally 
fail  in  any  other. 

I  remain,  my  dear  Sir, 

Your  very  much  obliged, 

and  sincere  friend, 

J.  AUSTEN, 


POEMS    AND    ROMANCES  297 

MARY  RUSSELL   MITFORD   (1787-1855) 

WAS  the  only  child  of  Dr.  Mitford  of  Hampshire.  On  her 
tenth  birthday  her  father  gave  her  a  lottery  ticket  which 
drew  a  prize  of  ^20,000.  Her  first  volume  of  poems  was 
published  in  1810.  In  1820  she  found  it  necessary  to  write 
for  the  purpose  of  earning  money  ;  and  four  of  her  tragedies 
were  acted,  but  are  now  forgotten.  But  Miss  Mitford  is 
still  remembered  for  her  work  entitled  "  Our  Village,"  a 
series  of  delightful  sketches  of  English  rural  life. 


To  Sir  William  Elford  l 

WORDSWORTH    AND    THE    SIMPLE    LIFE 

BERTRAM  HOUSE,  November  9,  1818. 

Yes,  my  dear  Sir  William,  your  prognostics  were 
right  ;  a  scolding  letter  was  actually  written  and  sent 
off  two  days  before  I  received  the  charming  packet 
about  which  you  are  pleased  to  talk  so  much  nonsense 
in  the  way  of  apology.  You  must  forgive  the  scolding, 
and  you  will  forgive  it  I  am  sure  ;  for  you  know  I  was 
not  then  apprised  of  the  grand  evils  of  mind  and  body 
by  which  you  were  assailed — the  teeth  and  the  rats. 
I  hope  these  enemies  are  in  a  good  train  to  be  overcome 
and  cured — that  the  teeth  are  multiplying  and  the 
rats  decreasing.  N.B. — If  you  want  a  first-rate  breed 
of  cats  we  can  supply  you.  We  have  a  white  cat,  half 
Persian,  as  deaf  as  a  post,  with  one  eye  blue  and  the 
other  yellow,  who,  besides  being  a  great  beauty,  is  the 

1  The  following  letters  by  Miss  Mitford  are  printed  by  courtesy 
of  Messrs.  Macmillan  &  Co.,  Ltd.,  from  the  Rev.  A.  G.  L'Estrange's 
"  Life  of  Mary  RusseH  Mitford." 


298  MARY    RUSSELL    MITFORD 

best  ratcatcher  in  the  county.  Shall  we  save  you  one 
of  the  next  litter  of  white  kittens  ? 

You  ask  me  about  Blackwood's  "  Edinburgh  Maga- 
zine "  :  I  will  tell  you  just  what  it  is — a  very  libellous, 
naughty,  wicked,  scandalous,  story-telling,  entertaining 
work — a  sort  of  chapel-of-ease  to  my  old  friend  the 
Quarterly  Review ;  abusing  all  the  wits  and  poets 
and  politicians  of  our  side,  and  praising  all  of  yours  ; 
abusing  Hazlitt,  abusing  John  Keats,  abusing  Leigh 
Hunt,  abusing  (and  this  is  really  too  bad),  abusing 
Haydon,  and  lauding  Mr.  Gifford,  Mr.  Croker,  and  Mr. 
Canning.  But  all  this,  especially  the  abuse,  is  very 
cleverly  done  ;  and  I  think  you  would  be  amused  by 
it.  I  particularly  recommend  to  you  the  poetical 
notices  to  correspondents,  the  "  Mao  Banker  of  Amster- 
dam "  and  some  letters  on  the  sagacity  of  the  shepherd's 
dog  by  that  delightful  poet,  James  Hogg.  .  .  .  When 
I  was  telling  you  some  of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  absurdities, 
did  I  tell  you  that  he  never  dined  ?  I  have  just  had 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  Hofland,  who  has  been  with  her 
husband  to  the  Lakes,  and  spent  some  days  at  a  Mr. 

Marshall's,  for  whom  Mr.  H was  painting  a  picture 

— but  Mrs.  Hofland  shall  speak  for  herself  : — "  On  my 
return  from  Mr.  M.'s  to  our  Ullswater  Cottage,  I  en- 
countered a  friend  who  condoled  with  me  on  the  dullness 
of  my  visit.  '  Dull ! '  It  was  delightful !  The  long  triste 
dinners,  the  breakfasts,  the  suppers,  the  luncheons  !  " 
To  be  sure  fourteen  people  must  eat,  but  these  said 
dinners  were  anything  but  dull,  I  assure  you.  Why 
do  you  call  them  so  ?  Because  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Words- 
worth were  staying  there,  and  were  so  overcome  by 
those  shocking  meals,  that  they  were  forced  to  come 
away  ?  The  Words  worths  never  dine,  you  know ; 


EASY    CATERING  299 

they  hate  such  doings  ;  when  they  are  hungry  they  go 
to  the  cupboard  and  eat  !  And  really,"  observes  Mr. 
Hofland,  "it  is  much  the  best  way.  There  is  Mr. 
Wordsworth,  who  will  live  for  a  month  on  cold  beef, 
and  the  next  on  cold  bacon  ;  and  my  husband  will 
insist  on  a  hot  dinner  every  day.  He  never  thinks 
how  much  trouble  I  have  in  ordering,  nor  what  a  plague 
my  cook  is  !  "  So  you  see  the  Wordsworth  regimen 
is  likely  to  spread. 

Very  sincerely  and  affectionately  yours, 

M.  R.  M. 


Mary  Russell  M  it  ford  to  Sir  William  Elford 

AN  ARTIST'S  EGOTISM 

November  12  [1819]. 

I  am  just  fresh  from  Farley  Hill,  where  I  have  been 
spending  part  of  two  days.  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Dickinson 
is  going  on  very  well,  and  sends  compliments  to  you. 
Mr.  Dickinson  was  just  fresh  arrived  from  Slough — Dr. 
Herschel's.  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  worthy 
astronomer  ?  I  was  interested  by  Mr.  Dickinson's 
account  of  him  and  his  goings  on.  He  has  at  last  been 
obliged  to  dismount  his  telescope,  and  relinquish  his 
observations  ;  but  till  within  the  last  year  he  and 
his  sister  sat  up  every  night,  he  observing,  and  she 
writing  as  he  dictated.  The  brother  is  eighty-two 
and  the  sister  seventy,  and  they  have  pursued  this 
course  these  twenty,  thirty,  forty  years.  Is  not  this 
a  fine  instance  of  female  devotion — of  the  complete 
absorption  of  mind  and  body  in  the  pursuits  of  the 
brother  and  friend  whom  she  loved  so  well  ?  I  know 


3oo  MARY    RUSSELL    MITFORD 

as  little  of  the  stars  as  any  other  superficial  woman, 
who  looks  on  them  with  the  eye  of  fancy  rather  than 
science,  and  I  have  no  great  wish  to  know  more,  but 
I  cannot  help  almost  envying  Miss  Herschel's  beautiful 
self-devotion.  It  is  the  true  glory  of  woman,  and  in 
an  old  woman  still  more  interesting  than  in  a  young 
one.  Poor  Herschel  himself  lost  an  eye  some  time 
ago  :  four  or  five  glasses  snapped,  one  after  another, 
as  he  was  making  an  observation  on  the  sun,  and  a 
ray  fell  directly  on  his  eye.  That  divine  luminary 
does  not  choose  to  be  pryed  into. 

I  must  tell  you  a  little  story  of  Haydon  at  which  I 
could  not  help  laughing.  Leigh  Hunt  (not  the  notorious 
Mr.  Henry  Hunt,  but  the  fop,  poet,  and  politician  of 
The  Examiner)  is  a  great  keeper  of  birthdays.  He 
was  celebrating  that  of  Haydn,  the  great  composer — 
giving  a  dinner,  crowning  his  bust  with  laurels,  be- 
rhyming the  poor  dead  German,  and  conducting  an 
apotheosis  in  full  form.  Somebody  told  Mr.  Haydon 
that  they  were  celebrating  his  birthday.  So  off  he 
trotted  to  Hampstead,  and  bolted  into  the  company — 
made  a  very  fine,  animated  speech — thanked  them 
most  sincerely  for  the  honour  they  had  done  him  and 
the  arts  in  his  person.  But  they  had  made  a  little 
mistake  in  the  day.  His  birthday,  etc.,  etc. 

Now,  this  bonhomie  is  a  little  ridiculous,  but  a 
thousand  times  preferable  to  the  wicked  wit  of  which 
the  poor  artist  was  the  dupe.  Did  you  ever  hear  this 
story  ?  It  was  told  me  by  a  great  admirer  of  Mr.  Hay- 
don's  and  friend  of  Leigh  Hunt's.  He  is  rather  a 
dangerous  friend,  I  think.  He  chooses  his  favourites 
to  laugh  at — a  very  good  reason  for  his  being  so  gracious 
to  me  !  Good-night  once  more,  my  dear  friend.  You 


HAYDON    OR    HAYDN  301 

know  I    always  write  to  you    at  the   go-to-bed  time, 
just  as  fires  and  candles  are  going  out.     Good-night ! 
Ever  most  affectionately  yours, 

M.  R.  MITFORD. 


Mary  Russell  Mitford  to  Sir  William  Elford 

EDWARD    IRVING 

THREE  MILE  CROSS,  February  19,  1825. 
.  .  .  Whilst  in  town  I  put  myself  in  the  way  of  a 
conversion  of  another  sort,  by  going  to  hear  Mr.  Irving. 
Did  you  ever  hear  him  ?  If  not,  do  :  he  is  really 
worth  a  little  trouble.  I  had  read  a  hundred  descrip- 
tions of  him,  and  seen  half  a  score  prints,  which  I  took 
for  caricatures,  till  I  saw  him  ;  and  then  he  seemed 
to  me  a  caricature  of  his  portraits — more  tall,  more 
squinting,  more  long  black-haired,  more  cadaverous, 
more  like  Frankenstein.  His  sermon,  too,  was  even 
odder  than  I  expected,  in  matter  and  manner ;  the 
latter  seemed  to  me  as  good  as  possible,  the  former  some- 
times good,  but  full  of  pretension  and  affectation  of 
every  sort.  I  have  no  doubt  whatever  but  that  the 
Rev.  Edward  Irving  is  the  vainest  person  that  lives 
at  this  moment ;  and  I  that  say  so  have  got  the  honour 
of  being  acquainted  with  divers  actors  and  sundry 
poets.  I  could  not  have  conceived  so  much  quackery 
possible  in  the  pulpit.  A  small  adventure  befell  me 
which  I  cannot  help  telling  you.  I  went  with  an  old 
lady,  who  at  the  end  of  two  hours  and  a  half  was  really 
ill  with  the  heat  and  the  crowd,  and  asked  me  to  go 
out  with  her.  Of  course  I  complied.  When  we  got 
to  the  door  we  found  a  gentleman  with  his  back  planted 


302  MARY    RUSSELL   MITFORD 

against  it,  who  point-blank  refused  to  let  us  out.  Heard 
ever  any  one  of  being  shut  into  a  chapel !  Mr.  Milman 
says  an  action  would  lie  for  false  imprisonment ;  and 
being  in  a  barrister's  house  I  might  have  had  law  cheap. 
My  poor  old  friend,  however,  was  suffering  ;  and  I 
was  not  quite  young  enough  in  the  world  to  be  taken 
in.  I  therefore  turned  to  the  loiterers  in  the  aisles, 
and  picking  out  my  man — a  fine,  spirited -looking  person, 
the  most  anti-puritanical  that  you  can  imagine — I 
said  to  him,  "  Sir,  this  lady  is  indisposed,  and  that 

gentleman "     "  G — d — n    me,    madam,"    exclaimed 

my  hopeful  ally,  "  this  is  some  d — d  whim  of  Dawkins 
— I'll  let  you  out."  And  forthwith  he  and  another 
young  man  of  his  sort  sprang  at  once  on  the  luckless 
Dawkins  (an  elder  of  the  congregation) — displaced  him 
par  voie  du  fait,  and  gave  us  free  egress  from  the  Cale- 
donian Church  under  the  very  nose  of  the  pastor. 

On  telling  this  story  the  next  day  to  Charles  Lamb, 
he  told  me  that  a  friend  of  his,  having  sat  through 
two  hours  of  sermon,  walked  off  in  the  same  way  ; 
but,  just  as  she  was  leaving  the  church,  Mr.  Irving 
himself  addressed  her  in  a  most  violent  manner  from 
the  pulpit,  whereupon  she  turned  round,  smiled,  nodded, 
curtsied,  and  then  walked  off.  I  certainly  could  not 
have  done  that,  nor  was  it  right,  although  Mr.  Irving 
himself  has  turned  a  house  of  worship  into  a  mere 
public  place — a  Sunday  theatre, — where  he  delivers 
orations  half  made  up  of  criticisms  and  abuse,  and 
preaches  for  five  hours  a  day  such  sermons  as  never 
were  called  sermons  before.  If  you  have  not  heard 
him  you  will  accuse  me  of  levity  ;  but  I  assure  you 
the  most  scrupulous  people  speak  of  him  as  I  do — 
everybody  indeed,  except  the  select  few  who  compose 


EDWARD    IRVING'S    PREACHING         303 

his  exclusive  admirers — and  even  they  praise  him  just 
as  they  praise  an  orator,  and  cry  up  his  discourses  just 
as  they  cry  up  a  clever  article  in  a  magazine.  I  am 
sorry  for  this,  for  the  man,  in  spite  of  his  execrable 
taste,  has  power — great  power.  He  fixes  the  attention, 
provokes  you  very  much  by  the  most  inconceivable 
bombast,  but  never  wearies  you.  He  certainly  has 
power,  and  if  he  should  have  the  good  luck  to  go  so 
completely  out  of  fashion,  as  neither  to  be  followed, 
praised,  or  blamed,  which  is  likely  enough  to  happen 
in  a  year  or  two,  I  should  not  wonder  to  find  him  become 
a  great  orator. 

Adieu,  my  very  dear  friend.  This  is  something  like 
my  old  budget  of  sauciness — in  length  at  least — and 
I  am  afraid  in  carelessness  and  illegibility ;  but  I 
am  quite  sure  of  your  indulgence,  and  that  of  your 
kind  family.  Say  everything  for  me  to  them  all, 
especially  to  Miss  Elford. 

Ever  most  gratefully  yours, 

M.  R.  M. 


Mary  Russell  Mitford  to  Elizabeth  B.  Barrett 
(Mrs.  Browning) 

A   PROPHECY   OF  FAME 

THREE  MILE  CROSS,  March  24,  1842. 

Thanks  upon  thanks,  my  beloved  friend,  for  the 
kindness  which  humours  even  my  fancies.  I  am 
delighted  to  have  the  reading  of  Anna  Seward's  letters. 
Perhaps  we  both  of  us  like  those  works  which  show 
us  men  and  women  as  they  are — faults,  frailties,  and 
all.  I  confess  that  I  do  love  all  that  identifies  and 


304  MARY    RUSSELL   MITFORD 

individualises  character — the  warts  upon  Crom well's 
face,  which  like  a  great  man  as  he  was  would  not  allow 
the  artist  to  omit  when  painting  his  portrait.  Therefore 
I  like  Hayley,  and  therefore  was  I  a  goose  of  the  first 
magnitude  when,  for  a  passing  moment,  just  by  way 
of  gaining  for  the  poor  bard  a  portion  of  your  good 
graces  (for  I  did  not  want  to  gain  for  him  the  applause 
of  the  public — he  had  it  and  lost  it),  I  wished  his  editor 
to  have  un-Hayley'd  him  by  wiping  away  some  of  the 
affectations — the  warts — no — the  rouge,  upon  his  face. 

My  love  and  my  ambition  for  you  often  seem  to  be 
more  like  that  of  a  mother  for  a  son,  or  a  father  for  a 
daughter  (the  two  fondest  of  natural  emotions),  than 
the  common  bonds  of  even  a  close  friendship  between 
two  women  of  different  ages  and  similar  pursuits.  I 
sit  and  think  of  you,  and  of  the  poems  that  you  will 
write,  and  of  that  strange  brief  rainbow  crown  called 
Fame,  until  the  vision  is  before  me  as  vividly  as  ever 
a  mother's  heart  hailed  the  eloquence  of  a  patriot 
son.  Do  you  understand  this  ?  and  do  you  pardon 
it  ?  You  must,  my  precious,  for  there  is  no  chance 
that  I  should  unbuild  that  house  of  clouds  ;  and  the 
position  that  I  long  to  see  you  fill  is  higher,  firmer, 
prouder  than  ever  has  been  filled  by  woman.  It  is 
a  strange  feeling,  but  one  of  indescribable  pleasure. 
My  pride  and  my  hopes  seem  altogether  merged  in 
you.  Well,  I  will  not  talk  more  of  this  ;  but  at  my 
time  of  life,  and  with  so  few  to  love,  and  with  a  tendency 
to  body  forth  images  of  gladness  and  of  glory,  you 
cannot  think  what  joy  it  is  to  anticipate  the  time. 
How  kind  you  are  to  pardon  my  gossiping  and  to  like  it. 

God  bless  you,  my  sweetest,  for  the  dear  love  which 
finds  something  to  like  in  these  jottings  !  It  is  the 


HOLCROFT'S    MEMOIRS  305 

instinct  of  the  bee,  that  sucks  honey  from  the  hedge 
flower. 

.  .  .  Did  you  ever  read  Holcroft's  Memoirs  ?  If 
not,  I  think  you  would  like  them.  I  did  exceedingly. 
He  was  a  poor  boy,  who  carried  Staffordshire  ware 
about  the  country  ;  then  he  exercised  the  horses  at 
Newmarket.  Do  read  it ;  I  know  nothing  more  graphic 
or  more  true.  Do  you  know  his  comedy,  The  Road 
to  Ruin  ?  The  serious  scenes  of  that  play,  between 
the  father  and  son,  are  amongst  the  most  touching 
in  the  language.  .  .  . 

Ever  yours, 

M.  R.  MITFORD. 


MARY  WOLLSTONECRAFT  SHELLEY   (1797-1851) 

WAS  born  in  London,  the  daughter  of  William  and  Mary 
Wollstonecraft  Godwin.  Her  education  she  owed  mainly 
to  her  father.  In  1816  she  became  the  second  wife  of  Percy 
Bysshe  Shelley  and  spent  some  five  years  in  Italy,  returning 
to  England  on  the  death  of  Shelley.  At  the  age  of  eighteen 
she  wrote  a  sensational  romance  "  Frankenstein,"  followed 
by  "  Valpurga  "  and  "  The  Last  Man,"  besides  "  Rambles  in 
Germany  and  Italy,"  and  a  valuable  collected  edition  of 
Shelley's  poems. 


To     Mrs.  Leigh  Hunt 

LIFE    AT   LEGHORN 

LEGHORN,  August  28,  1819. 

MY  DEAR  MARIANNE, — We  are  very  dull  at  Leghorn, 
and  I  can  therefore  write  nothing  to  amuse  you.     We 

20 


306     MARY    WOLLSTONECRAFT    SHELLEY 

live  in  a  little  country  house  at  the  end  of  a  green 
lane  surrounded  by  a  pod&re.  These  podere  are  just 
the  things  Hunt  would  like.  They  are  like  our  kitchen 
gardens,  with  the  difference  only  that  the  beautiful 
fertility  of  the  country  gives  them.  A  large  bed  of 
cabbages  is  very  unpicturesque  in  England,  but  here 
the  furrows  are  alternated  with  rows  of  grapes  festooned 
on  their  supporters.  It  is  filled  with  olive,  fig,  and 
peach  trees,  and  the  hedges  are  of  myrtle,  which  have 
just  ceased  to  flower  ;  their  flower  has  the  sweetest 
faint  smell  in  the  world,  like  some  delicious  spice ;  green 
grassy  wralks  lead  you  through  the  vines  ;  the  people 
are  always  busy,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  see  three  or  four 
of  them  transform  in  one  day  a  bed  of  Indian  corn  to 
one  of  celery.  They  work  this  hot  weather  in  their 
shirts,  or  smock  frocks  (but  their  breasts  are  bare), 
their  brown  legs  nearly  the  colour,  only  with  a  rich 
tinge  of  red  in  it,  of  the  earth  they  turn  up.  They  sing 
not  very  melodiously,  but  very  loud,  Rossini's  music, 
mi  rivedrai  ti  revedro,  and  they  are  accompanied  by 
the  cicala,  a  kind  of  little  beetle  that  makes  a  noise 
with  its  tail  as  loud  as  Johnny  can  sing ;  they  live  on 
trees,  and  three  or  four  together  are  enough  to  deafen 
you.  It  is  to  the  cicala  that  Anacreon  has  addressed 
an  ode  which  they  call  "  To  a  Grasshopper  "  in  the 
English  translations. 

Well,  here  we  live  ;  I  never  am  in  good  spirits — often 
in  very  bad,  and  Hunt's  portrait  has  already  seen  me 
shed  so  many  tears,  that  if  it  had  his  heart  as  well  as 
his  eyes,  he  would  weep  too  in  pity.  But  no  more  of 
this,  or  a  tear  will  come  now,  and  there  is  no  use  for 
that. 

By  the  by,  a  hint  Hunt  gave  about  portraits.     The 


LIFE  IN  ITALY  307 

Italian  painters  are  very  bad  ;  they  might  make  a  nose 
like  Shelley's,  and  perhaps  a  mouth,  but  I  doubt  it ; 
but  there  would  be  no  expression  about  it.  They 
have  no  notion  of  anything  except  copying  again  and 
again  their  old  masters ;  and  somehow  mere  copying, 
however  divine  the  original,  does  a  great  deal  more 
harm  than  good. 

Shelley  has  written  a  good  deal,  and  I  have  done 
very  little  since  I  have  been  in  Italy.  I  have  had 
so  much  to  see,  and  so  many  vexations  independent 
of  those  which  God  has  kindly  sent  to  wean  me  from 
the  world  if  I  were  too  fond  of  it.  S.  has  not  had 
good  health  by  any  means,  and  when  getting  better, 
fate  has  ever  contrived  something  to  pull  him  back. 
He  never  was  better  than  the  last  month  of  his  stay 
in  Rome,  except  the  last  week — then  he  watched  sixty 
miserable  death-like  hours  without  closing  his  eyes,1 
and  you  may  think  what  good  that  did  him. 

We  see  the  Examiners  regularly  now,  four  together, 
just  two  months  after  the  publication  of  the  last.  I 
have  a  word  to  say  to  Hunt  of  what  he  says  concerning 
Italian  dancing.  The  Italians  dance  very  badly. 
They  dress  for  their  dances  in  the  ugliest  manner  : 
the  men  in  little  doublets  with  a  hat  and  feather  ; 
they  are  very  stiff,  nothing  but  their  legs  move,  and 
they  twirl  and  jump  with  as  little  grace  as  may  be. 
It  is  not  for  their  dancing  but  their  pantomime  that 
the  Italians  are  famous.  You  remember  what  we 
told  you  of  the  ballet  of  Othello.  They  tell  a  story 
by  action,  so  that  words  appear  perfectly  superfluous 
things  for  them.  In  that  they  are  graceful,  agile,  im- 
pressive and  very  affecting,  so  that  1  delight  in  nothing 
1  At  the  death-bed  of  his  little  boy. 


308     MARY   WOLLSTONECRAFT    SHELLEY 

so  much  as  a  deep  tragic  ballet.  But  the  dancing, 
unless  as  they  sometimes  do,  they  dance  as  common 
people  ;  for  instance,  the  dance  of  joy  of  the  Venetian 
citizens  on  the  return  of  Othello  is  very  bad  indeed. 

I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  all  your  kind 
offers  and  wishes.  Hunt  would  do  Shelley  a  great 
deal  of  good,  but  that  we  may  not  think  of  ;  his  spirits 
are  tolerably  good.  But  you  do  not  tell  me  how  you 
get  on,  how  Bessy  is,  and  where  she  is.  Remember 
me  to  her.  Clare  is  learning  thorough  bass  and  singing. 
We  pay  four  crowns  a  month  for  her  master,  three 
times  a  week  ;  cheap  work  this,  is  it  not  ?  At  Rome 
we  paid  three  shillings  a  lesson,  and  the  master  stayed 
two  hours.  The  one  we  have  now  is  the  best  in  Leghorn. 
I  write  in  the  morning,  read  Latin  till  two,  when  we 
dine  ;  then  I  read  some  English  book,  and  two  cantos 
of  Dante  with  Shelley.  In  the  evening  our  friends 
the  Gisbornes  come,  so  we  are  not  perfectly  alone. 
I  like  Mrs.  Gisborne  very  much  indeed,  but  her  husband 
is  most  dreadfully  dull ;  and  as  he  is  always  with  her 
we  have  not  so  much  pleasure  in  her  company  as  we 
otherwise  should.  .  .  . 


Mary  Wollstonecraft  Shelley  to  Mrs.  Gisborne 

THE    DEATH    OF    SHELLEY 

PISA,  September  10,  1822. 

And  so  here  I  am  !  I  continue  to  exist ;  to  see  one 
day  succeed  the  other  ;  to  dread  night,  but  more  to 
dread  morning,  and  hail  another  cheerless  day.  My 
boy,  too,  is,  alas  !  no  consolation.  When  I  think  how 
he  loved  him — the  plans  he  had  for  his  education — his 


MARY    SHELLEY'S    GRIEF  309 

sweet  and  childish  voice  strikes  me  to  the  heart.  Why 
should  he  live  in  this  world  of  pain  and  anguish  ?  And 
if  he  went  I  should  go  too,  and  we  should  all  sleep  in 
peace. 

At  times  I  feel  an  energy  within  me  to  combat  with 
my  destiny — but  again  I  sink.  I  have  but  one  hope, 
for  which  I  live — to  render  myself  worthy  to  join  him  ; 
and  such  a  feeling  sustains  me  during  moments  of 
enthusiasm  ;  but  darkness  and  misery  soon  overwhelm 
the  mind,  when  all  near  objects  bring  agony  alone  with 
them.  People  used  to  call  me  lucky  in  my  star  :  you 
see  now  how  true  such  a  prophecy  is  ! 

I  was  fortunate  in  having  fearlessly  placed  my  destiny 
in  the  hands  of  one  who — a  superior  being  among  men,  a 
bright  planetary  spirit  enshrined  in  an  earthly  temple — 
raised  me  to  the  height  of  happiness.  So  far  am  I  now 
happy,  that  I  would  not  change  my  situation  as  his  widow 
with  that  of  the  most  prosperous  woman  in  the  world  ;  and 
surely  the  time  will  at  length  come  when  I  shall  be  at 
peace,  and  my  brain  and  heart  be  no  longer  alive  with 
unutterable  anguish.  I  can  conceive  but  of  one  circum- 
stance that  could  afford  me  the  semblance  of  content — 
that  is,  the  being  permitted  to  live  where  I  am  now,  in 
the  same  house,  in  the  same  state,  occupied  alone  with 
my  child,  in  collecting  his  manuscripts,  writing  his  life, 
and  thus  to  go  easily  to  my  grave. 

But  this  must  not  be  !  Even  if  circumstances  did  not 
compel  me  to  return  to  England,  I  would  not  stay 
another  summer  in  Italy  with  my  child.  I  will  at 
least  do  my  best  to  render  him  well  and  happy  ;  and 
the  idea  that  my  circumstances  may  at  all  injure  him 
is  the  fiercest  pang  my  mind  endures. 

I  wrote  you  a  long  letter,  containing  a  slight  sketch 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


3io     MARY    WOLLSTONECRAFT    SHELLEY 

of  my  sufferings.  I  sent  it,  directed  to  Peacock,  at  the 
India  House,  because  accident  led  me  to  believe  that 
you  were  no  longer  in  London.  I  said  in  that,  that  on 
that  day  (August  1 5 )  they  had  gone  to  perform  the  last 
offices  for  him  ;  however,  I  erred  in  this,  for  on  that  day 
those  of  Edward  were  alone  fulfilled,  and  they  returned 
on  the  1 6th  to  celebrate  Shelley's.  I  will  say  nothing  of 
the  ceremony,  since  Trelawny  has  written  an  account 
of  it,  to  be  printed  in  the  forthcoming  journal.  I  will 
only  say,  that  all  except  his  heart  (which  was  incon- 
sumable) was  burnt,  and  that  two  days  ago  I  went  to 
Leghorn  and  beheld  the  small  box  that  contained  his 
earthly  dress.  Those  smiles — that  form — Great  God  ! 
no — he  is  not  there  ;  he  is  with  me,  about  me — life  of 
my  life,  and  soul  of  my  soul  !  If  his  divine  spirit  did 
not  penetrate  mine,  I  could  not  survive  to  weep  thus. 

I  will  mention  the  friends  I  have  here,  that  you  may 
form  an  idea  of  our  situation.  Mrs.  Williams  and  I  live 
together.  We  have  one  purse,  and,  joined  in  misery, 
we  are  for  the  present  joined  in  life. 

The  poor  girl  withers  like  a  lily.  She  lives  for  her 
children  ;  but  it  is  a  living  death.  Lord  Byron  has  been 
very  land.  But  the  friend  to  whom  we  are  eternally 
indebted  is  Trelawny.  I  have,  of  course,  mentioned 
him  to  you  as  one  who  wishes  to  be  considered  eccentric, 
but  who  was  noble  and  generous  at  bottom.  I  always 
thought  so  even  when  no  fact  proved  it ;  and  Shelley 
agreed  with  me,  as  he  always  did — or  rather,  I  with 
him.  We  heard  people  speak  against  him  on  account  of 
his  vagaries :  we  said  to  one  another,  "  Still  we  like 
him  ;  we  believe  him  to  be  good."  Once,  even,  when  a 
wbim  of  his  led  him  to  treat  me  with  something  like 
impertinence,  I  forgave  him,  and  I  have  now  been  well 


TRELAWNY  311 

rewarded.  In  my  outline  of  events,  you  will  see  how, 
unasked,  he  returned  with  Jane  and  me  from  Leghorn 
to  Lerici ;  how  he  stayed  with  us  miserable  creatures 
twelve  days  there,  endeavouring  to  keep  up  our  spirits; 
how  he  left  us  on  Thursday,  and,  finding  our  misfortune 
confirmed,  then,  without  rest,  returned  on  Friday  to  us, 
and  again  without  rest,  returned  with  us  to  Pisa  on 
Saturday.  These  were  no  common  services.  Since 
that,  he  has  gone  through  by  himself  all  the  annoyances 
of  dancing  attendance  on  consuls  and  governors,  for 
permission  to  fulfil  the  last  duties  to  those  gone,  and 
attending  the  ceremony  himself.  All  the  disagreeable 
part,  and  all  the  fatigue,  fell  on  him.  As  Hunt  said, 
"  He  worked  with  the  meanest  and  felt  with  the  best." 
He  is  generous  to  a  distressing  degree  ;  but  after  all 
these  benefits  what  I  most  thank  him  for  is  this  : — 
When,  on  that  night  of  agony — that  Friday  night — he 
returned,  to  announce  that  hope  was  dead  for  us  ;  when 
he  had  told  me  that,  his  earthly  frame  being  found,  his 
spirit  was  no  longer  to  be  my  guide,  protector,  and  com- 
panion in  this  dark  world, — he  did  not  attempt  to  con- 
sole me  ;  that  would  have  been  too  cruelly  useless  ; 
but  he  launched  forth  into,  as  it  were,  an  overflowing  and 
eloquent  praise  of  my  divine  Shelley,  till  I  was  almost 
happy  that  I  was  thus  unhappy,  to  be  fed  by  the  praise 
of  him,  and  to  dwell  on  the  eulogy  that  his  loss  thus  drew 
from  his  friend. 

God  knows  what  will  become  of  me  !  My  life  is  now 
very  monotonous  as  to  outward  events  ;  yet  how 
diversified  by  internal  feeling  !  How  often,  in  the  in- 
tensity of  grief,  does  one  instant  seem  to  fill  and  embrace 
the  universe  !  As  to  the  rest — the  mechanical  spending 
of  my  time — of  course  I  have  a  great  deal  to  do  pre- 


312     MARY    WOLLSTONECRAFT    SHELLEY 

paring  for  my  journey.  I  make  no  visits  except  one, 
once  in  about  ten  days,  to  Mrs.  Mason.  Trelawny 
resides  chiefly  at  Leghorn,  since  he  is  captain  of  Lord 
Byron's  vessel,  the  Bolivar.  He  comes  to  see  us  about 
once  a  week,  and  Lord  Byron  visits  us  about  twice  a 
week,  accompanied  by  the  Guiccioli ;  but  seeing  people 
is  an  annoyance  which  I  am  happy  to  be  spared.  Soli- 
tude is  my  only  help  and  resource.  Accustomed,  even 
when  he  was  with  me,  to  spend  much  of  my  time  alone, 
I  can  at  those  moments  forget  myself,  until  some  idea, 
which  I  think  I  would  communicate  to  him,  occurs,  and 
then  the  yawning  and  dark  gulf  again  displays  itself, 
unshaded  by  the  rainbows  which  the  imagination  had 
formed.  Despair,  energy,  love,  desponding  and  exces- 
sive affliction,  are  like  clouds  driven  across  my  mind, 
one  by  one,  until  tears  blot  the  scene,  and  weariness  of 
spirit  consigns  me  to  temporary  repose. 

I  shudder  with  horror  when  I  look  back  upon  what  I 
have  suffered  ;  and  when  I  think  of  the  wild  and  miserable 
thoughts  that  have  possessed  me,  I  say  to  myself,  "  Is 
it  true  that  I  ever  felt  thus  ?  "  and  then  I  weep  in  pity 
for  myself  ;  yet  each  day  adds  to  the  stock  of  sorrow  ; 
and  death  is  the  only  end.  I  would  study,  and  I  hope 
I  shall.  I  would  write,  and,  when  I  am  settled  I  may. 
But  were  it  not  for  the  steady  hope  I  entertain  of  joining 
him,  what  a  mockery  would  be  this  world  !  Without 
that  hope,  I  could  not  study  or  write  ;  for  fame  and 
usefulness  (except  as  far  as  regards  my  child)  are  nullities 
to  me.  Yet  I  shall  be  happy  if  anything  I  ever  produce 
may  exalt  and  soften  sorrow,  as  the  writings  of  the 
divinities  of  our  race  have  mine.  But  how  can  I  aspire 
to  that  ? 

The  world  will  surely  one  day  feel  what  it  has  lost, 


"ADONAIS"  313 

when  this  bright  child  of  song  deserted  her.  Is  not 
Adonais  his  own  elegy  ?  And  there  does  he  truly  depict 
the  universal  woe  which  should  overspread  all  good 
minds,  since  he  has  ceased  to  be  their  fellow-labourer 
in  this  worldly  scene.  How  lovely  does  he  paint  death 
to  be,  and  with  what  heartfelt  sorrow  does  one  repeat 
that  line  : 

But  I  am  chain'd  to  time,  and  cannot  thence  depart ! 

How  long  do  you  think  I  shall  live  ?  As  long  as  my 
mother  ?  Then  eleven  long  years  must  intervene.  I 
am  now  on  the  eve  of  completing  my  five-and-twentieth 
year.  How  drearily  young  for  one  so  lost  as  I  !  How 
young  in  years  for  one  who  lives  ages  each  day  in  sorrow  ! 
Think  you  that  those  moments  are  counted  in  my  life  as 
in  other  people's  ?  Ah,  no  !  The  day  before  the  sea 
closed  over  mine  own  Shelley,  he  said  to  Marianne, 
"  If  I  die  to-morrow  I  have  lived  to  be  older  than  my 
father.  I  am  ninety  years  of  age/'  Thus  also  may  I 
say.  The  eight  years  I  passed  with  him  were  spun  out 
beyond  the  usual  length  of  a  man's  life  ;  and  what  I 
have  suffered  since  will  write  years  on  my  brow,  and 
entrench  them  in  my  heart.  Surely  I  am  not  long  for 
this  world.  Most  sure  would  I  be  were  it  not  for  my 
boy  ;  but  God  grant  that  I  may  live  to  make  his  early 
years  happy  ! 

Well,  adieu  !  I  have  no  events  to  write  about,  and 
can  therefore  only  scrawl  about  my  feelings.  This  letter, 
indeed,  is  only  the  sequel  of  my  last.  In  that  I  closed 
the  history  of  all  that  can  interest  me.  That  letter 
I  wish  you  to  send  my  father  :  the  present  it  is  best 
not. 

I  suppose  I  shall  see  you  in  England  some  of  these 


314      MARY  WOLLSTONECRAFT   SHELLEY 

days  ;  but  I  shall  write  to  you  again  before  I  quit  this 
place.  Be  as  happy  as  you  can,  and  hope  for  better 
things  in  the  next  world.  By  firm  hope  you  may  attain 
your  wishes.  Again  adieu  ! 

Affectionately  yours, 

M.  W.  SHELLEY. 


LADY   ANN  BARNARD   (1750-1825) 

ELDEST  daughter  of  James  Lindsay,  Earl  of  Balcarres ;  married 
Andrew  Barnard,  son  of  the  Bishop  of  Limerick,  in  1793. 
She  wrote  the  beautiful  lyric  "  Auld  Robin  Gray  "  in  1772,  but 
its  authorship  remained  a  secret  until  she  acknowledged  it 
for  the  first  time  hi  the  following  letter  to  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


To  Sir  Walter  Scott 

AULD    ROBIN    GRAY 

BERKELEY  SQUARE,  LONDON,  July  8,  1823. 
MY  DEAR  SIR, — I  am  really  ashamed  to  tell  you  how 
long  I  have  remained  balancing  between  the  strong 
desire  I  had  of  addressing  you,  and  the  timidity  I  felt 
on  encroaching  upon  time  so  valuable  to  the  world  at 
large  ;  but  I,  am  convinced  your  good  nature  will  not  only 
pardon  me,  but  will  induce  you  to  grant  the  favour  I  am 
about  to  ask.  It  is,  that  you  will  convey  to  the  author  of 
"  Waverley,"  with  whom  I  am  informed  you  are  personally 
acquainted,  how  gratefully  I  feel  the  kindness  with  which 
he  has  (in  the  second  volume  of  "  The  Pirate,"  thirteenth 
chapter)  so  distinguishedly  noticed  and,  by  his  powerful 
authority,  assigned  the  long-contested  ballad  of  "Auld 
Robin  Gray  "  to  its  real  author. 


AULD    ROBIN    GRAY  315 

In  truth,  the  position  I  was  placed  in  about  that  song 
had  at  last  become  irksome  to  me ;  how  can  I,  then,  so 
fully  mark  my  thankfulness  to  him  who  has  relieved  me 
from  my  dilemma,  as  by  transmitting  to  him,  fairly  and 
frankly,  the  Origin,  Birth,  Life,  Death,  and  Confession, 
Will  and  Testament,  of  "  Auld  Robin  Gray,"  with  the 
assurance  that  the  author  of  "  Waverley  "  is  the  first 
person  out  of  my  own  family  who  has  ever  had  an 
explanation  from  me  on  the  subject  ? 

Robin  Gray,  so  called  from  its  being  the  name  of  the 
old  herdsman  at  Balcarres,  was  born  soon  after  the  close 
of  the  year  1771.  My  sister  Margaret  had  married  and 
accompanied  her  husband  to  London  ;  I  was  melancholy, 
and  endeavoured  to  amuse  myself  by  attempting  a  few 
poetical  trifles.  There  was  an  ancient  Scotch  melod}' 
of  which  I  was  passionately  fond — Sophy  Johns  tone, 
who  lived  before  your  day,  used  to  sing  it  to  us  at  Bal- 
carres ;  I  longed  to  sing  old  Sophy's  air  to  different 
words,  and  to  give  to  its  plaintive  tones  some  little 
history  of  virtuous  distress  in  humble  life,  such  as  might 
suit  it.  While  attempting  to  effect  this  in  my  closet, 
I  called  to  my  little  sister,  now  Lady  Hard wi eke,  who 
was  the  only  person  "near  me, — "I  have  been  writing  a 
ballad,  my  dear, — I  am  oppressing  my  heroine  with  many  . 
misfortunes, — I  have  already  sent  her  Jamie  to  sea,  and 
broken  her  father's  arm,  and  made  her  mother  fall  sick, 
and  given  her  Auld  Robin  Gray  for  a  lover,  but  I  wish 
to  load  her  with  a  fifth  sorrow,  in  the  four  lines,  poor 
thing  !  help  me  to  one,  I  pray."  "  Steal  the  cow,  sister 
Anne,"  said  the  little  Elizabeth.  The  cow  was  im- 
mediately lifted  by  me,  and  the  song  completed.  At  our 
fireside,  amongst  our  neighbours,  "  Auld  Robin  Gray  " 
was  always  called  for  ;  I  was  pleased  with  the  approba- 


3i6  LADY    ANN    BARNARD 

tion  it  met  with ;  but  such  was  my  dread  of  being  sus- 
pected of  writing  anything,  perceiving  the  shyness  it 
created  in  those  who  could  write  nothing,  that  I  carefully 
kept  my  own  secret. 

.  .  .  From  one  honest  man  I  had  an  excellent  hint ; 
the  Laird  of  Dalzell,  after  hearing  it,  broke  into  the 
angry  exclamation  of  "  Oh,  the  villain  !  oh,  the  auld 
rascal  !  /  ken  wha  stealt  the  poor  lassie's  coo — it  was 
Auld  Robin  Gray  himsel' !  "  I  thought  this  a  bright  idea, 
and  treasured  it  up  for  a  future  occasion.  Meantime, 
little  as  this  matter  seems  to  have  been  worthy  of  dispute, 
it  afterwards  became  almost  a  party  question  between 
the  sixteenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  :  "  Robin 
Gray  "  was  either  a  very,  very  ancient  ballad,  composed 
perhaps  by  David  Rizzio,  and  a  great  curiosity,  or  a 
very,  very  modern  matter,  and  no  curiosity  at  all.  I 
was  persecuted  to  confess  whether  I  had  written  it,  or, 
if  not,  where  I  had  got  it.  Old  Sophy  kept  my  counsel, 
and  I  kept  my  own,  in  spite  of  the  gratification  of  seeing 
a  reward  of  twenty  guineas  offered  in  the  newspapers 
to  the  person  who  could  ascertain  the  point  past  a 
doubt,  and  the  still  more  flattering  circumstance  of  a 

visit  from   Mr.    J ,    secretary  to    the    Antiquarian 

Society,  who  endeavoured  to  entrap  the  truth  from  me 
in  a  manner  I  took  amiss.  Had  he  asked  me  the  ques- 
tion obligingly,  I  should  have  told  him  the  fact  distinctly, 
but  confidentially  :  the  annoyance,  however,  of  this  im- 
portant ambassador  from  the  Antiquaries  was  amply 
repaid  to  me  by  the  moble  exhibition  of  the  ballet  of 
Auld  Robin  Gray's  courtship,  as  performed  by  dancing 
dogs  under  my  windows  ; — it  proved  its  popularity 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  and  gave  me  pleasure 
while  I  hugged  myself  in  my  obscurity. 


JEANIE    AND    JAMIE  317 

Such  was  the  history  of  the  first  part  of  it.  As  to  the 
second,  it  was  written  many  years  after,  in  compliment 
to  my  dear  old  mother,  who  often  said  :  ' '  Annie  !  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  how  that  unlucky  business  of  Jeanie 
and  Jamie  ended."  To  meet  her  wishes  as  far  as  I  could, 
the  second  part  was  written  ;  it  is  not  so  pleasing  as  the 
first  :  the  loves  and  distresses  of  youth  go  more  to  the 
heart  than  the  contritions,  confessions,  and  legacies 
of  old  age  ;  my  dread,  however,  of  being  named  as  an 
authoress  still  remaining,  though  I  sung  it  to  my  mother, 
I  gave  her  no  copy  of  it,  but  her  affection  for  me  so 
impressed  it  on  a  memory,  which  [then]  retained  scarcely 
anything  else,  and  she  repeated  it  so  often,  with  the 
pride  of  being  the  only  person  that  had  the  power  of 
doing  so,  that  I  think  it  very  probable,  by  means  of  my 
mother's  friend  and  constant  companion,  Mrs.  Keith, 
some  of  the  verses  may  have  reached  the  hand  of  the 
author  of  "  Waverley,"  as  it  was  a  subject  of  delight 
to  her  to  boast  of  her  intimacy  with  him.  I  have  reason 
to  know  there  exists  a  version  of  the  second  part  from 
Jeanie 's  own  lips,  but  that  which  has  already  been  so 
highly  honoured  as  to  be  placed  where  it  is,  shall  for  ever 
keep  its  ground  with  me,  and  the  other  shall  remain  in 
the  corner  of  my  portfolio. 

Let  me  now  once  more,  my  dear  Sir,  entreat  that  you 
will  prevail  on  the  author  of  "  Waverley  "  to  accept,  in 
testimony  of  my  most  grateful  thanks,  of  the  only  copies 
of  this  ballad  ever  given  under  the  hand  of  the  writer ; 
and  will  you  call  here,  I  pray,  when  you  come  next  to 
London,  sending  up  your  name  that  you  may  not  be 
denied.  You  will  then  find  the  doors  open  wide  to 
receive  you,  and  two  people  will  shake  hands  who  are 
unacquainted  with  ennui, — the  one  being  innocently 


318  LADY   ANN    BARNARD 

occupied  from  morning  to  night,  the  other  with  a  splen- 
did genius  as  his  companion  wherever  he  goes  ! 
God  bless  you. 

ANN  BARNARD. 

P.S. — I  see  that  I  have  not  mentioned  the  advice 
of  the  old  laird  of  Dalzell's,  who,  when  we  were  tete- 
d-tete  afterwards,  said,  "  My  dear,  the  next  time  you 
sing  that  song,  alter  the  line  about  the  crown  and 
the  pound,  and  when  you  have  said  that  '  saving  ae 
crown  piece,  Jamie  had  naething  else  beside,'  be  sure 
you  add  '  to  mak'  it  twenty  merks  my  Jamie  gaed  to 
sea/ — for  a  Scottish  pund,  my  dear,  is  but  twenty 
pence,  and  Jamie  was  na  siccan  a  gowk  as  to  leave 
Jeanie  and  gang  to  sea  to  lessen  his  gear  : — 'twas  that 
sentence,'  he  whispered  '  telled  me  the  song  was 
written  by  some  bonnie  lassie  that  didna  ken  the  nature 
o'  the  Scotch  money  as  well  as  an  auld  writer  in  the 
town  of  Edinboro'  would  hae  done." 

I  was  delighted  with  the  criticism  of  old  Dalzell, — 
if  it  had  occurred  to  the  Antiquarian  Society,  it  might 

have  saved  Mr.  J the  trouble  of  his  visit ;  but, 

though  I  admit  it  would  have  been  wiser  to  have  cor- 
rected the  error,  I  have  never  changed  the  pound  note, 
which  has  always  passed  current  in  its  original  state. 


MARY  HOWITT   (1799-1888) 

NEE  Botham,  was  born  at  Coleford,  Gloucestershire,  and  began 
to  write  while  still  a  child.  In  1821  she  married  William 
Howitt,  who  himself  became  an  author  of  some  repute. 
Mrs.  Hewitt's  works,  which  comprise  over  a  hundred,  consist 
of  translations,  poems,  and  books  of  travel.  Excepting 


BYRON'S    DEATH  319 

certain  poems  and  books  for  children,  few  of  her  works  have 
survived  her  day.  The  Howitts  were  originally  Quakers, 
then  Spiritualists,  but  Mary  Howitt  in  1882  became  a  Roman 
Catholic  and  died  in  Rome,  where  her  latter  years  were 
spent. 


To  her  Sister,  Anna  Harrison  ! 

BYRON'S  DEATH  AND  FUNERAL 

[NOTTINGHAM]  7th  Mo  :  18,  1824. 

.  .  .  Poor  Byron  !  I  was  grieved  exceedingly  at  the 
tidings  of  his  death  ;  but  when  his  remains  arrived 
here,  it  seemed  to  make  it  almost  a  family  sorrow.  I 
wept  then,  for  my  heart  was  full  of  grief  to  think  that 
fine,  eccentric  genius,  that  handsome  man,  the  brave 
asserter  of  the  rights  of  the  Greeks,  and  the  first  poet 
of  our  time,  he  whose  name  will  be  mentioned  with 
reverence  and  whose  glory  will  be  uneclipsed  when  our 
children  shall  have  passed  to  dust :  to  think  that  he 
lay  a  corpse  in  an  inn  in  this  very  town.  Oh  !  Anna, 
I  could  not  refrain  from  tears. 

Byron's  faithful,  generous,  undeviating  friend,  Hob- 
house,  who  stood  by  him  to  the  last,  his  friend  through 
good  and  evil, — he  only,  excepting  Byron's  servants 
and  the  undertakers,  came  down  to  see  the  last  rites 
paid.  Hobhouse's  countenance  was  pale,  and  strongly 
marked  by  mental  suffering. 

But  to  particulars.  On  fifth-day  afternoon  the 
hearse  and  mourning  coaches  came  into  Nottingham. 
In  the  evening  the  coffin  lay  in  state.  The  crowd  was 

1  The  following  letters  by  Mary  Howitt  are  printed  from  her 
"  Life  and  Correspondence,"  by  kind  permission  of  Sir  Isaac 
Pitman  &  Sons,  Ltd. 


320  MARY   HOWITT 

immense.  We  went  among  the  rest.  I  shall  never 
forget  it.  The  room  was  hung  with  black,  with  the 
escutcheons  of  the  Byron  family  on  the  walls  ;  it  was 
lighted  by  six  immense  wax-candles,  placed  round  the 
coffin  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  The  coffin  was  covered 
with  crimson  velvet  richly  ornamented  with  brass 
nails  ;  on  the  top  was  a  plate  engraved  with  the  titles 
and  arms  of  Lord  Byron.  At  the  head  of  the  coffin 
was  placed  a  small  chest  containing  an  urn,  which 
enclosed  the  heart  and  brains.  Four  pages  stood, 
two  on  each  side ;  visitors  were  admitted  by  twelves, 
and  were  to  walk  round  only  ;  but  we  laid  our  hands 
on  the  coffin.  It  was  a  moment  of  enthusiastic  feeling 
to  me.  It  seemed  to.  me  impossible  that  this  wonderful 
man  lay  actually  within  that  coffin.  It  was  more 
like  a  dream  than  a  reality. 

Nottingham,  which  connects  everything  with  politics, 
could  not  help  making  even  the  passing  respect  to  our 
poet's  memory  a  political  question.  He  was  a  Whig  ; 
he  hated  priests,  and  was  a  lover  of  liberty  ;  he  was 
the  author  of  "  Don  Juan "  and  "  Cain."  So  the 
Tory  party,  which  is  the  same  as  saying  the  gentry, 
would  not  notice  even  his  coffin.  The  parsons  had 
their  feud,  and  therefore  not  a  bell  tolled  either  when 
he  came  or  went.  He  was  a  lover  of  liberty,  which 
the  Radical  Corporation  here  thought  made  him  their 
brother  ;  therefore  all  the  rabble  rout  from  every  lane 
and  alley,  and  garret  and  cellar,  came  forth  to  curse 
and  swear,  and  shout  and  push,  in  his  honour.  All 
religious  people  forswore  him,  on  account  of  his  li- 
centiousness and  blasphemy  ;  they  forgot  his  "  Childe 
Harold,"  his  "  Bride  of  Abydos,"  the  "  Corsair,"  and 
"  Lara." 


THE    POET'S    FUNERAL  321 

The  next  morning  all  the  friends  and  admirers  of 
Byron  were  invited  to  meet  in  the  market-place  to 
form  a  procession  to  accompany  him  out  of  town. 
Thou  must  have  read  in  the  papers  of  the  funeral  train 
that  came  from  London.  In  addition  to  this  were 
five  gentleman's  carriages,  and  perhaps  thirty  riders 
on  horseback,  besides  Lord  Rancliffe's  tenantry,  who 
made  about  thirty  more,  and  headed  the  procession, 
and  were  by  far  the  most  respectable  ;  for  never,  surely, 
did  such  a  shabby  company  ride  in  the  train  of  mounte- 
banks or  players.  There  was  not  one  gentleman  who 
would  honour  our  immortal  bard  by  riding  two  miles 
in  his  funeral  train.  The  equestrians,  instead  of  follow- 
ing two  and  two,  as  the  paper  says  they  did,  most 
remarkably  illustrated  riding  all  sixes-and -sevens. 

William,  Charles,  Thomas  Knott,  and  that  odd 
Smith  (thou  rememberest  him)  went  to  Hucknall  to 
see  the  interment.  It,  like  the  rest,  was  the  most 
disgraceful  scene  of  confusion  that  can  well  be  imagined, 
for  from  the  absence  of  all  persons  of  influence,  or 
almost  of  respectability,  the  rude  crowd  of  country 
clowns  and  Nottingham  Goths  paid  no  regard  to  the 
occasion,  and  no  respect  or  decency  was  to  be  seen. 
William  says  it  was  almost  enough  to  make  Byron  rise 
from  the  dead  to  see  the  scene  of  indecorum,  and  the 
poor,  miserable  place  in  which  he  lies,  though  it  is 
the  family  burial  vault. 

That  mad-headed,  impetuous  Smith  was,  like  the 
rest,  enraged  at  the  want  of  respect,  which  was  the  most 
marked  trait  of  the  interment.  Although  he  had 
that  day  walked  in  the  heat  of  a  broiling  sun  fourteen 
miles,  he  sat  up  and  wrote  a  poem  on  the  subject,  which 
I  send  as  a  curiosity.  He  composed  and  copied  it  by 

21 


322  MARY    HOWITT 

three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  went  and  called  up  Sutton, 
very  much  to  his  displeasure,  had  it  sent  to  press 
by  six  o'clock,  and  by  nine  had  the  verses  ready  for 
publication.  Byron's  servants  took  four-and -twenty 
copies,  and  seemed  much  delighted  with  it. 

Is  it  not  strange  that  such  an  unusual  silence  is 
maintained  by  the  poets  on  the  subject  of  his  death  ? 
It  reminds  me  of  the  Eastern  custom  of  breaking  all 
instruments  of  music  in  any  overwhelming  grief,  or 
on  the  occasion  of  the  death  of  some  favourite.  It 
seems  a  theme  too  painful  for  any  but  a  master- touch, 
and  he  is  gone  that  could  best  do  justice  to  such  a  subject. 


Mary  Howitt  to  her  Sister,  Anna  Harrison 

THE   VISIT   TO    LONDON 

NOTTINGHAM,  i2th  Mo  :  isth,  1829. 

.  .  .  Now,  dear  Anna,  what  wilt  thou  say  when  I 
tell  thee  William  and  I  set  out  for  London  the  day 
after  to-morrow  ?  My  heart  beats  at  this  moment  to 
think  of  it.  I  half  dread  it.  I  shall  twenty  times 
wish  for  our  quiet  fireside,  where  day  by  day  we  read 
and  talk  by  ourselves,  and  nobody  looks  in  upon  us. 
I  keep  reasoning  with  myself  that  the  people  we  shall 
see  in  London  are  but  men  and  women,  and,  perhaps, 
after  all,  no  better  than  ourselves.  If  we  could,  dear 
Anna,  but  divest  our  minds  of  self,  as  our  dear  father 
used  to  say  we  should  do,  it  would  be  better  and  more 
comfortable  for  us.  This  is  the  only  thing  that  casts 
a  cloud  on  our  proposed  journey.  In  every  other 
respect  it  is  delightful,  almost  intoxicating.  I  recall  to 
myself  the  old  fame  of  London,  its  sublime  position  in 


COUNTRY    COUSINS  323 

the  world,  its  immensity,  its  interesting  society,  till 
I  feel  an  impatient  enthusiasm,  which  makes  quite  a 
child  of  me  again.  Think  only,  dear  Anna,  to  hear 
the  very  hum  of  that  immense  place,  to  see  from  afar 
its  dense  cloud  of  smoke  !  These  things,  little  and 
ordinary  as  they  would  be  to  many,  would,  I  know, 
under  particular  circumstances,  fill  my  eyes  with  tears 
and  bring  my  heart  into  my  throat  till  I  could  not 
say  a  word.  But  then  to  stand  on  Tower  Hill,  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  upon  some  old  famous  bridge,  to  see 
the  marbles  in  the  British  Museum,  the  pictures  in 
some  of  the  fine  galleries,  or  even  to  have  before  one's 
eyes  some  old  grey  wall  in  Eastcheap,  or  the  Jewry, 
about  which  Shakespeare  or  some  other  worthy  has 
made  mention,  will  be  to  me  a  realisation  of  many  a 
vision  and  speculation.  We  do  not  intend  to  stay 
more  than  a  week,  and  thou  mayst  believe  we  shall 
have  enough  to  do.  We  are  to  be  with  Alaric  and 
Zillah  Watts,  and  have  to  make  special  calls  on  the 
S.  C.  Halls,  Dr.  Bowring,  the  Pringles,  and  be  intro- 
duced to  their  ramifications  of  acquaintances  ;  Allan 
Cunningham,  L.  E.  L.  Martin  the  painter,  and  Thomas 
Roscoe,  we  are  sure  to  see,  and  how  many  more  I 
cannot  tell* 


Mary  Howitt  to  her  Sister,  Anna  Harrison 

THE   TASTE    OF   A   QUAKERESS 

NOTTINGHAM,  June  14,   1830. 

.  .  .  Why,  dear  Anna,  if  thou  feelst  the  disadvantage 
and  absurdity  of  Friends'  peculiarities,  dost  thou 
not  abandon  them  ?  William  has  done  so,  and  really 


324  MARY    HOWITT 

I  am  glad.  He  is  a  good  Christian,  and  the  change 
has  made  no  difference  in  him,  except  for  the  better, 
as  regards  looks.  I  am  amazed  now  how  I  could 
advocate  the  ungraceful  cut  of  a  Friend's  coat ;  and 
if  we  could  do  the  same,  we  should  find  ourselves  re- 
ligiously no  worse,  whatever  Friends  might  think.  I 
never  wish  to  be  representative  to  any  meeting,  or 
to  hold  the  office  of  clerk  or  sub-clerk.  All  other  privi- 
leges of  the  Society  we  should  enjoy  the  same.  But 
I  am  nervous  on  the  subject.  I  should  not  like  to  wear 
a  straw  bonnet  without  ribbons  ;  it  looks  so  Metho- 
distical ;  and  with  ribbons,  I  again  say,  I  should  be 
nervous.  Besides,  notwithstanding  all  his  own  changes, 
William  likes  a  Friend's  bonnet.  In  all  other  par- 
ticulars of  dress,  mine  is  just  in  make  the  same  as 
everybody  else's.  Anna  Mary  I  shall  never  bring  up 
in  the  payment  of  the  tithe  of  mint  and  cummin  ;  and 
I  fancy  Friends  are  somewhat  scandalised  at  the  unortho- 
dox appearance  of  the  little  maiden.  As  to  language, 
I  could  easily  adopt  that  of  our  countrymen,  but  think 
with  a  Friend's  bonnet  it  does  not  accord  ;  and  I 
like  consistency.  I  quite  look  for  the  interference  of 
some  of  our  exact  brothers  or  sisters  on  account  of  my 
writings ;  at  least  if  they  read  the  annuals  next  year, 
for  I  have  a  set  of  the  most  un-Friendly  ballads  in 
them.  What  does  Daniel  say  about  these  things  ?  I 
hope  he  does  not  grow  rigid  as  he  grows  older. 

I  trust  thou  hast  plenty  of  nice  little  shelves  and 
odd  nooks  for  good  casts  and  knick-knacks.  I  love 
to  see  these  things  in  a  house,  where  they  are  well 
selected  and  used  with  discretion.  Let  us  accustom 
our  children  to  elegant  objects,  as  far  as  our  means 
permit.  I  think  one  might  manage  so  that  every  common 


ART    IN    THE    HOME  325 

jug  and  basin  in  the  house  were  well  moulded,  with 
such  curves  as  would  not  have  offended  the  eye  of  an 
Athenian.  There  is  much  in  the  forms  of  things.  I 
wish  I  had  my  time  to  live  over  again,  for  with  my 
present  knowledge,  even  in  the  buying  of  a  brown 
pot  I  could  do  better.  Thou  wilt  perhaps  smile  at 
this  as  folly,  yet  so  fully  am  I  impressed  with  its  im- 
portance, that  I  point  out  to  Anna  Mary  what  appears 
to  me  good  and  what  faulty.  Morally  and  intellectually 
we  must  be  better  for  studying  perfection,  and  it  con- 
sists of  a  great  deal  in  outward  forms.  Even  a  child 
can  soon  perceive  how  in  houses  some  things  are  chosen 
for  their  grotesqueness  or  picturesqueness,  which  is 
distinct  from  beauty.  I  do  not  know  why  I  have  written 
thus,  for  thou  feelst  these  things  just  as  much  as  I  do. 


Mary  Howitt  to  her  Sister,  Anna  Harrison 

"  OF   MANY   BOOKS  " 

NOTTINGHAM,  December  26,   1830. 

It  is  impossible  to  tell  thee  how  I  long  for  some 
mighty  spirit  to  arise  to  give  a  new  impulse  to  mind. 
I  am  tired  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  his  imitators,  and 
I  am  sickened  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  luscious  poetry,  and  all 
her  tribe  of  copyists.  The  libraries  set  in  array  one 
school  against  the  other,  and  hurry  out  their  trashy 
volumes  before  the  ink  of  the  manuscript  is  fairly 
dry.  It  is  an  abomination  to  my  soul ;  not  one  in 
twenty  could  I  read.  Thus  it  is,  a  thousand  books 
are  published,  and  nine  hundred  and  ninety  are  un- 
readable. Dost  thou  remember  the  days  when  Byron's 
poems  came  out  first,  now  one,  and  then  one,  at  sufficient 


326  MARY    HOWITT 

intervals  to  allow  of  digesting  ?  And  dost  thou  re- 
member our  first  reading  of  "  Lalla  Rookh  "  ?  It 
was  on  a  washing  day.  We  read  and  clapped  our 
clear-starching,  read  and  clapped,  read  and  clapped 
and  read  again,  and  all  the  time  our  souls  were  not 
on  this  earth.  Ay,  dear  Anna,  it  was  either  being 
young  or  being  unsurfeited  which  gave  such  glory  to 
poetry  in  those  days.  And  yet  I  do  question  whether, 
if  "  Lalla  Rookh  "  were  now  first  published,  I  could 
enjoy  it  as  I  did  then.  But  of  this  I  cannot  judge  ; 
the  idea  of  the  poem  is  spoiled  to  me  by  others  being 
like  it.  I  long  for  an  era,  the  outbreaking  of  some 
strong  spirit  who  would  open  another  seal.  The  very 
giants  that  rose  in  intellect  at  the  beginning  of  the 
century — Sou  they,  Coleridge,  and  Wordsworth — have 
become  dwarfed.  Many  causes  have  conspired  to 
make  literature  what  it  now  is,  a  swarming  but  in- 
significant breed  :  one  being  the  wretched,  degraded 
state  of  criticism  ;  another  is  the  annuals,  and,  in  fact, 
all  periodical  writing,  which  requires  a  certain  amount 
of  material,  verse  or  prose,  in  a  given  time. 


Mary  Howitt  to  Father  Paul  Perkmann,  O.S.B. 

THE    RECEPTION    AT   THE   VATICAN 

ROME,  January  n,  1888. 

I  cannot  allow  myself  to  have  all  the  blessings  and 
enjoyments  which  yesterday  afforded  me  without  endea- 
vouring to  make  you,  at  least  in  part,  a  sharer.  For 
no  one,  I  believe,  would  bear  me  more  sympatheti- 
cally in  mind  during  that  eventful  morning  than  yourself. 
It  was  a  brilliant  day,  after  wretchedly  wet  and 


THE    POPE'S    RECEPTION  327 

dreary  weather,  just  as  if  Heaven  were  in  perfect  har- 
mony with  the  desires  of  the  English  pilgrims,  to  the 
number  of  about  five  hundred. 

Our  friends,  Mr.  Alphonso  and  Miss  Constantia 
Clifford,  are  here,  you  know,  and  this  English  deputation 
was  under  the  conduct  of  their  cousin,  the  Bishop  of 
Clifton.  Yesterday  Mr.  Clifford,  as  a  private  chamber- 
lain, was  in  attendance  on  the  Pope,  it  being  considered 
in  order  that  he,  an  Englishman,  should  be  so  on  the 
occasion  of  the  English  deputation,  at  the  head  of  which 
was,  of  course,  the  good  Duke  of  Norfolk. 

But  though  on  duty  and  very  much  occupied ,  he  made 
time  to  receive  us  at  the  private  entrance,  where  we 
could  immediately  ascend  by  a  lift,  without  any  fatigue, 
into  a  warm,  comfortable  ante-room.  Here  we  could 
rest  till  the  time  came  for  the  interview.  Various  dis- 
tinguished personages,  whose  names,  high  in  the  Church, 
were  familiar  to  us,  were  moving  about;  and  every 
now  and  then  Mr.  Clifford  introduced  us  to  them.  In  a 
while  we  were  moved  on,  advancing  perhaps  through 
five  or  six  rooms,  all  of  which  interested  me  greatly, 
nothing  striking  me  more  than  the  wonderful  simplicity 
of  the  apartments  ;  all  similar  and  wholly  without  orna- 
ment or  costly  show.  At  length  we  were  in  the  room 
immediately  adjoining  and  opening  into  the  Throne- 
room,  where,  it  now  being  ten  o'clock,  the  Holy  Father 
had  received  the  Bishops  of  the  deputation.  Here  we 
heard  the  low,  calm  voice  of  the  Holy  Father  addressing 
the  various  delegates,  who  one  after  the  other  knelt 
before  him.  We  were  about  fifty  ladies  and  a  few 
gentlemen,  just  the  first  detachment  which  had  been 
admitted,  as  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  receive  the 
full  number  at  once  ;  and  we  were  so  favoured  as  to  be 


328  MARY    HOWITT 

in  this  first  detachment.  I  now  discovered,  with  a 
little  nervous  trepidation  that  /,  your  poor  old  penitent, 
was  to  be  honoured  by  first  receiving  the  blessing  after 
the  delegates.  But,  to  my  infinite  surprise  and  thank- 
fulness, though  I  did  feel  a  little  bit  startled,  with  a  deep 
sense  of  my  own  unworthiness,  I  felt  at  the  same  time 
very  calm  and  grateful,  trusting  that  our  dear  Lord 
would  indeed  be  with  me.  At  length  the  moment  came. 
Mr.  Clifford  and  Mr.  Hartwell  Grissell  were  there,  and 
I  was  within  the  doorway. 

I  saw  the  Holy  Father  seated,  not  on  a  throne,  but  on 
a  chair,  a  little  raised  above  the  level  of  the  floor  ;  and 
the  English  Bishops,  in  their  violet  silk  cloaks  seated 
in  two  rows  on  either  side  of  him.  The  gracious, 
most  courteous  Duke  of  Norfolk  came  forward  and 
acknowledged  us.  This  might  last,  perhaps,  two  minutes. 
Then  Mr.  Clifford  led  me  forward  to  the  Holy  Father  ; 
Margaret,  as  my  daughter,  following  with  Miss  Clifford. 
I  never  thought  of  myself.  I  was  unconscious  of  every- 
thing. A  serene  happiness,  almost  joy,  filled  my  whole 
being,  as  I  at  once  found  myself  on  my  knees  before  the 
vicar  of  Christ.  My  wish  was  to  kiss  his  foot,  but  it  was 
withdrawn  and  his  hand  given  me.  You  may  think 
with  what  fervour  I  kissed  the  ring.  In  the  meantime 
he  had  been  told  my  age  and  my  late  conversion.  His 
hands  were  laid  on  my  shoulders,  and  again  and  again 
his  right  hand  in  blessing  on  my  head,  whilst  he  spoke 
to  me  of  Paradise. 

All  this  time  I  did  not  know  whether  I  was  in  the  body 
or  not.  I  knew  afterwards  that  I  felt  unspeakably 
happy,  and  with  a  sense  of  unwillingness  to  leave.  How 
long  it  lasted — perhaps  a  minute  or  so — I  know  not,  but 
I  certainly  was  lifted  into  a  high  spiritual  state  of  bliss, 


RELIGIOUS    ENTHUSIASM  329 

such  as  I  never  had  experience  of  before,  and  which  now 
fills  me  with  astonishment  and  deep  thankfulness  to  recall. 
I  woke  in  the  stillness  of  last  night  with  the  sense  of  it 
upon  me.  It  is  wonderful.  I  hope  I  may  never  lose  it. 

On  leaving  the  room  I  received  from  a  monsignore  in 
attendance,  with  the  words  that  the  Holy  Father  gave 
it  me,  a  silver  medal  of  himself  in  a  small  red  case — a 
present  which  was  made  to  others  of  the  deputation. 

The  Duke  of  Norfolk,  after  this,  very  kindly  led  me 
out  by  another  way  of  exit,  and  thus  we  could  return 
home  immediately,  descending  in  the  lift  by  which  we 
had  ascended. 

LADY  CAROLINE   LAMB   (1785-1828) 

A  DAUGHTER  of  the  Earl  of  Bessborough,  was  married  to 
William  Lamb,  afterwards  Lord  Melbourne.  She  wrote 
novels  which  gained  her  some  celebrity,  but  she  is  chiefly  re- 
membered on  account  of  her  friendship  with  Lord  Byron, 
which  occasioned  some  comment,  but  ended  in  a  quarrel. 
Her  rank,  accomplishments,  and  personal  attractions  enabled 
her  to  take  a  brilliant  place  in  the  fashionable  society  of 
the  day.  Lady  Caroline  on  meeting  the  funeral  procession 
of  Lord  Byron  in  1824  became  insensible ;  an  illness  followed, 
from  which  she  never  entirely  recovered. 

To  Lady  Morgan 

"  THE    PILGRIM    OF   ETERNITY  " 

[No  DATE]   1826  (?). 

No,  no ;  not  that  portrait x  out  of  my  hands — I  cannot 
bear  ;  I  will  have  it  copied  for  you.  I  must  take  it  with 

i  This  appears  to  be  a  portrait  of  Byron,  which  Lady  Caroline 
left  to  Lady  Morgan  after  her  jleath, 


330  LADY    CAROLINE    LAMB 

me  to  Paris.  Thank  you,  dear  Lady  Morgan,  for  your 
advice,  but  you  do  not  understand  me,  and  I  do  not 
wonder  you  cannot  know  me.  I  had  purposed  a  very 
pretty  little  supper  for  you.  I  have  permission  to  see 
all  my  friends  here  :  it  is  not  William's  house  ;  besides, 

he  said  he  wished  me  to  see  every  one,  and  Lady  

called  and  asked  me  who  I  wished  to  see.  I  shall 
therefore  shake  hands  with  the  whole  Court  Guide  before 
I  go.  The  only  question  I  want  you  to  solve  is,  shall  I  go 
abroad  ?  Shall  I  throw  myself  upon  those  who  no 
longer  want  me,  or  shall  I  live  a  good  sort  of  a  half  kind 
of  life  in  some  cheap  street  a  little  way  off,  viz.  the 
City  Road,  Shoreditch,  Camber  well,  or  upon  the  top 
of  a  shop, — or  shall  I  give  lectures  to  little  children,  and 
keep  a  seminary,  and  thus  earn  my  bread  ?  or  shall  I 
write  a  kind  of  quiet  everyday  sort  of  novel,  full  of  whole- 
some truths  ?  or  shall  I  attempt  to  be  poetical,  and, 
failing,  beg  my  friends  for  a  guinea  a-piece,  and  their 
name,  to  sell  my  work,  upon  the  best  foolscap  paper  ? 
or  shall  I  fret,  fret,  fret,  and  die  ?  or  shall  I  be  dignified 
and  fancy  myself — as  Richard  the  Second  did  when  he 
picked  the  nettle  up — upon  a  thorn  ? 

Sir  Charles  Morgan  was  most  agreeable  and  good- 
natured.  Faustus  is  good  in  its  way,  but  has  not  all  its 
sublimity  ;  it  is  like  a  rainy  shore.  I  admire  it  because 
I  conceive  what  I  had  heard  translated  elsewhere,  but 
the  end  particularly  is  in  very  contemptible  taste.  The 
overture  tacked  to  it  is  magnificent,  the  scenery  beautiful, 
parts  affecting,  and  not  unlike  Lord  Byron,  that  dear, 
that  angel,  that  misguided  and  misguiding  Byron,  whom 
I  adore,  although  he  left  that  dreadful  legacy  on  me — • 
my  memory.  Remember  thee — and  well. 

I  hope  he  and  William  will  find  better  friends ;  as 


BYRON'S    FASCINATION  331 

to  myself,  I  never  can  love  anything  better  than  what 
I  thus  tell  you ; — William  Lamb  first,  my  mother 
second,  Byron  third,  my  boy  fourth,  my  brother 
William  fifth,  my  father  and  godmother  sixth  ;  my 
uncle  and  aunt,  my  cousin  Devonshire,  my  brother  Fred 
(myself),  my  cousins  next,  and  last,  my  petit  friend,  young 
Russell,  because  he  is  my  aunt's  godson  ;  because  when 
he  was  but  three  I  nursed  him  ;  because  he  has  a  hard- 
to-win,  free,  and  kind  heart ;  but  chiefly  because  he 
stood  by  me  when  no  one  else  did. 

I  am  yours, 

C.  L. 

Lady  Caroline  Lamb  to  Lady  Morgan 

RETROSPECTION 

[No  DATE] 

MY  DEAREST  LADY, — As  being  a  lady  whom  my  adored 
mother  loved,  your  kindness  about  "  Ada  Reis  "  x  I  feel 
the  more,  as  everybody  wishes  to  run  down  and  suppress 
the  vital  spark  of  genius  I  have,  and,  in  truth,  it  is  but 
small  (about  what  one  sees  a  maid  gets  by  excessive 
beating  on  a  tinder-box).  I  am  not  vain,  believe  me, 
nor  selfish,  nor  in  love  with  my  authorship  ;  but  I  am 
independent,  as  far  as  a  mite  and  a  bit  of  dust  can  be. 
I  thank  God,  being  born  with  all  the  great  names  of 
England  around  me.  I  value  them  alone  for  what  they 
dare  do,  and  have  done ;  and  I  fear  nobody  except  the 
devil,  who  certainly  has  all  along  been  very  particular 
in  his  attentions  to  me,  and  has  sent  me  as  many  baits 
as  he  did  Job.  I,  however,  am,  happily  for  myself,  in  as 
ill  a  state  of  health  as  he  was,  so  I  trust  in  God  I  shall 

1  A  fantastic  Eastern  tale  by  Lady  Caroline  Lamb,  published 
in  1823. 


332  LADY    CAROLINE    LAMB 

ever  more  resist  temptation.  My  history,  if  you  ever 
care  and  like  to  read  it,  is  this :  My  mother,  having 
boys,  wished  ardently  for  a  girl ;  and  I,  who  evidently 
ought  to  have  been  a  soldier,  was  found  a  naughty  girl, 
forward,  talking  like  Richard  the  Third. 

I  was  a  trouble,  not  a  pleasure,  all  my  childhood,  for 
which  reason,  after  my  return  from  Italy,  where  I  was 
from  the  age  of  four  until  nine,  I  was  ordered  by  the 
late  Dr.  Ware  neither  to  learn  anything  nor  see  any  one, 
for  fear  the  violent  passions  and  strange  whims  they 
found  in  me  should  lead  to  madness  ;  of  which,  however, 
he  assured  every  one  there  were  no  symptoms.  I  differ ; 
but  the  end  was,  that  until  fifteen  I  learned  nothing. 
My  instinct — for  we  all  have  instincts — was  for  music  : 
in  it  I  delighted  ;  I  cried  when  it  was  pathetic,  and  did 
all  that  Dryden's  ode  made  Alexander  do — of  course  I 
was  not  allowed  to  follow  it  up.  My  angel  mother's 
ill-health  prevented  my  living  at  home  ;  my  kind  aunt 
Devonshire  took  me  ;  the  present  Duke  loved  me  better 
than  himself,  and  every  one  paid  me  those  compliments 
shown  to  children  who  are  precious  to  their  parents,  or 
delicate  and  likely  to  die.  I  wrote  not,  spelt  not ;  but 
I  made  verses,  which  they  all  thought  beautiful :  for 
myself,  I  preferred  washing  a  dog,  or  polishing  a  piece 
of  Derbyshire  spar,  or  breaking  in  a  horse,  to  any  ac- 
complishment in  the  world.  Drawing-room  (shall  I 
say  with-drawing-room,  as  they  now  say  ?),  looking- 
glasses,  finery,  or  dress-company  for  ever  were  my 
abhorrence.  I  was,  I  am,  religious  ;  I  was  loving  (?), 
but  I  was  and  am  unkind.  I  fell  in  love  when  only 
twelve  years  old,  with  a  friend  of  Charles  Fox — a  friend 
of  liberty  whose  poems  I  had  read,  whose  self  I  had  never 
seen,  and  when  I  did  see  him,  at  thirteen,  could  I  change  ? 


AN    INTERESTING    HISTORY  333 

No ;  I  was  more  attached  than  ever.  William  Lamb  was 
beautiful,  and  far  the  cleverest  person  then  about,  and 
the  most  daring  in  his  opinions,  in  his  love  of  liberty 
and  independence.  He  thought  of  me  but  as  a  child, 
yet  he  liked  me  much  ;  afterwards  he  offered  to  marry 
me,  and  I  refused  him  because  of  my  temper,  which 
was  too  violent ;  he,  however,  asked  twice,  and  was  not 
refused  the  second  time,  and  the  reason  was  that  I 
adored  him.  I  had  three  children  ;  two  died  ;  my  only 
child  is  afflicted  :  it  is  the  will  of  God.  I  have  wandered 
from  right  and  been  punished.  I  have  suffered  what 
you  could  hardly  believe ;  I  have  lost  my  mother, 
whose  gentleness  and  good  sense  guided  me.  I  have 
received  more  kindness  than  I  can  ever  repay.  I  have 
suffered  also,  but  I  deserved  it.  My  power  of  mind  and 
of  body  are  gone  ;  I  am  like  the  shade  of  what  I  was  ; 
to  write  was  once  my  resource  and  pleasure  ;  but  since 
the  only  eyes  that  ever  admired  my  most  poor  and 
humble  production  are  closed,  wherefore  should  I  in- 
dulge the  propensity  ?  God  bless  you  ;  I  write  from  my 
heart.  You  are  one  like  me,  who,  perhaps,  have  not 
taken  the  right  road.  I  am  on  my  death-bed  ;  say,  I 
might  have  died  by  a  diamond,  I  die  now  by  a  brick-bat ; 
but  remember,  the  only  noble  fellow  I  ever  met  with  is 
William  Lamb  ;  he  is  to  me  what  Shore  was  to  Jane 
Shore.  I  saw  it  once  ;  I  am  as  grateful,  but  as  unhappy. 
Pray  excuse  the  sorrows  this  sad,  strange  letter  will 
cause  you.  Could  you  be  in  time  I  would  be  glad  to  see 
you — to  you  alone  would  I  give  up  Byron's  letters — 
much  eke,  but  all  like  the  note  you  have.  Pray  excuse 
this  being  not  written  as  clearly  as  you  can  write.  I 
speak  as  I  hope  you  do,  from  the  heart. 

C.  L. 


334  FELICIA   DOROTHEA   HEMANS 

FELICIA  DOROTHEA  HEMANS  (1793-1835) 

FELICIA  DOROTHEA  BROWNE  began  to  write  verse  at  a  very 
early  age,  and  a  book  of  poems  from  her  pen  was  published 
in  her  fifteenth  year.  She  married  in  1812.  Her  poems, 
which  comprise  many  volumes,  attained  great  popularity 
during  her  lifetime  in  England  and  America,  but,  save  for 
those  printed  in  Anthologies,  are  little  known  to  the  present 
generation. 


To 


SIR   WALTER   SCOTT 

CHIEFSWOOD,  July  20  [1829]. 

Whether  I  shall  return  to  you  all  "  brighter  and 
happier,"  as  your  letter  so  kindly  prophesies,  I  know 
not :  but  I  think  there  is  every  prospect  of  my  returning 
more  fitful  and  wilful  than  ever  ;  for  here  I  am  leading 
my  own  free  native  life  of  the  hills  again,  and  if  I  could 
but  bring  some  of  my  friends,  as  the  old  ballads  says, 
"  near,  near,  near  me,"  I  should  indeed  enjoy  it ;  but 
that  strange  solitary  feeling  which  I  cannot  chase  away, 
comes  over  me  too  often  like  a  dark  sudden  shadow, 
bringing  with  it  an  utter  indifference  to  all  things  around. 
I  lose  it  most  frequently,  however,  in  the  excitement  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott's  society.  And  with  him  I  am  now  in 
constant  intercourse,  taking  long  walks  over  moor  and 
woodland,  and  listening  to  song  and  legend  of  other 
times,  until  my  mind  quite  forgets  itself,  and  is  carried 
wholly  back  to  the  days  of  the  Slogan  and  the  fiery 
cross,  and  the  wild  gatherings  of  border  chivalry.  I 
cannot  say  enough  of  his  cordial  kindness  to  me  ;  it 


WALKS    WITH    SCOTT  33  5 

makes  me  feel  when  at  Abbotsford,  as  if  the  stately 
rooms  of  the  proud  ancestral-looking  place,  were  old 
familiar  scenes  to  me.  Yesterday  he  made  a  party  to 
show  me  the  "  pleasant  banks  of  Yarrow,"  about  ten 
miles  from  hence  :  I  went  with  him  in  an  open  carriage, 
and  the  day  was  lovely,  smiling  upon  us  with  a  real  blue 
sunny  sky,  and  we  passed  through  I  know  not  how 
many  storied  spots,  and  the  spirit  of  the  master-mind 
seemed  to  call  up  sudden  pictures  from  every  knoll  and 
cairn  as  we  went  by — so  vivid  were  his  descriptions  of 
the  things  that  had  been.  The  names  of  some  of  those 
scenes  had,  to  be  sure,  rather  savage  sounds  ;  such  as 
"  Slain  Man's  Lea,"  "  Dead  Man's  Pool,"  etc.,  etc. ;  but 
I  do  not  know  whether  these  strange  titles  did  not  throw 
a  deeper  interest  over  woods  and  waters  now  so  brightly 
peaceful.  We  passed  one  meadow  on  which  Sir  Walter's 
grandfather  had  been  killed  in  a  duel ;  "  had  it  been 
a  century  earlier,"  said  he,  "a  bloody  feud  would  have 
been  transmitted  to  me,  as  Spaniards  bequeath  a  game 
of  chess  to  be  finished  by  their  children."  And  I  do 
think,  that  had  he  lived  in  those  earlier  days,  no  man 
would  have  more  enjoyed  what  Sir  Lucius  O' Trigger  is 
pleased  to  call  "  a  pretty  quarrel  "  ;  the  whole  expression 
of  his  benevolent  countenance  changes  if  he  has  but  to 
speak  of  the  dirk  or  the  claymore  :  you  see  the  spirit 
that  would  "  say  amidst  the  trumpets,  ha  !  ha  !  "  sud- 
denly flashing  from  his  gray  eyes,  and  sometimes,  in 
repeating  a  verse  of  warlike  minstrelsy,  he  will  spring  up 
as  if  he  sought  the  sound  of  a  distant  gathering  cry. 
But  I  am  forgetting  beautiful  Yarrow,  along  the  banks 
of  which  we  walked  through  the  Duke  of  Buccleugh's 
grounds,  under  old  rich  patrician  trees  ;  and  at  every 
turn  of  our  path  the  mountain  stream  seemed  to  assume 


336  FELICIA  DOROTHEA   HEMANS 

a  new  character,   sometimes  lying  under  steep  banks 
in  dark  transparence,  sometimes 

crested  with  tawny  foam, 
Like  the  mane  of  a  chestnut  steed. 

And  there  was  Sir  Walter  beside  me,  repeating,  with  a 
tone  of  feeling  as  deep  as  if  then  only  first  wakened — 

They  sought  him  east,  they  sought  him  west, 
They  sought  him  far  with  wail  and  sorrow  ; 

There  was  nothing  seen  but  the  coming  night, 
And  nothing  heard  but  the  roar  of  Yarrow. 

It  was  all  like  a  dream.  Do  you  remember  Words- 
worth's beautiful  poem  "  Yarrow  visited  "  ?  I  was  ready 
to  exclaim,  in  its  opening  words — "  And  is  this  Yarrow  ?  " 
— There  was  nothing  to  disturb  the  deep  and  often 
solemn  loveliness  of  the  scenery :  no  rose-coloured 
spencers  such  as  persecuted  the  unhappy  Count  Forbin 
amidst  the  pyramids — Mr.  Hamilton,  and  Mrs.  Lockhart, 
and  the  boys,  who  followed  us,  were  our  whole  party  ; 
and  the  sight  of  shepherds,  real,  not  Arcadian  shepherds, 
sleeping  under  their  plaids  to  shelter  from  the  noon-day, 
carried  me  at  once  into  the  heart  of  a  pastoral  and 
mountain  country.  We  visited  Newark  tower,  where, 
amongst  other  objects  that  awakened  many  thoughts, 
I  found  the  name  of  Mungo  Park  (who  was  a  native 
of  the  Yarrow  vale),  which  he  had  inscribed  himself, 
shortly  before  leaving  his  own  bright  river  never  to 
return.  We  came  back  to  Abbotsford,  where  we  were 
to  pass  the  remainder  of  the  day,  partly  along  the 
Ettrick,  and  partly  through  the  Tweed  ;  on  the  way,  we 
were  talking  of  trees,  in  his  love  for  which  Sir  Walter 
is  a  perfect  Evelyn.  I  mentioned  to  him  what  I  once 
spoke  of  to  you,  the  different  sounds  they  give  forth 


MUSIC    AND    POETRY  337 

to  the  wind,  which  he  had  observed,  and  he  asked  me 
if  I  did  not  think  that  an  union  of  music  and  poetry, 
varying  in  measure  and  expression,  might  in  some 
degree  imitate  or  represent  those  "  voices  of  the  trees  "  ; 
and  he  described  to  me  some  Highland  music  of  a  similar 
imitative  character,  called  the  "  notes  of  the  sea-birds  " 
barbaric  notes  truly  they  must  be  ! — In  the  evening 
we  had  a  good  deal  of  music  :  he  is  particularly  fond  of 
national  airs,  and  I  played  him  many,  for  which  I  wish 
you  had  heard  how  kindly  and  gracefully  he  thanked 
me.  But,  O  !  the  bright  swords  !  I  must  not  forget  to 
tell  you  how  I  sat,  like  Minna  in  "  The  Pirate  "  (though 
she  stood  or  moved,  I  believe),  the  very  "  queen  of 
swords."  I  have  the  strongest  love  for  the  flash  of 
glittering  steel — and  Sir  Walter  brought  out  I  know  not 
how  many  gallant  blades  to  show  me  ;  one  which  had 
fought  at  Killicrankie,  and  one  which  had  belonged  to 
the  young  Prince  Henry,  James  the  First's  son,  and  one 
which  looked  of  as  noble  race  and  temper  as  that  with 
which  Cceur  de  Lion  severed  the  block  of  steel  in 
Saladin's  tent.  What  a  number  of  things  I  have  yet 
to  tell  you  !  I  feel  sure  that  my  greatest  pleasure  from 
all  these  new  objects  of  interest  will  arise  from  talking 
them  over  with  you  when  I  return.  .  .  . 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

F.  H. 


Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans  to 


WORDSWORTH 

RYDAL  MOUNT,  June  24,  1830. 

I  am  charmed  with  Mr.  Wordsworth,  whose  kindness 
to  me  has  quite  a  soothing  influence  over  my  spirits. 
Oh  !  what  relief,  what  blessing  there  is  in  the  feeling  of 

22 


338  FELICIA   DOROTHEA  HEMANS 

admiration,  when  it  can  be  freely  poured  forth  !  "  There 
is  a  daily  beauty  in  his  life,"  which  is  in  such  lovely 
harmony  with  his  poetry,  that  I  am  thankful  to  have 
witnessed  and  felt  it.  He  gives  me  a  good  deal  of  his 
society,  reads  to  me,  walks  with  me,  leads  my  pony 
when  I  ride,  and  I  begin  to  talk  with  him  as  with  a  sort 
of  paternal  friend.  The  whole  of  this  morning  he  kindly 
passed  in  reading  to  me  a  great  deal  from  Spenser,  and 
afterwards  his  own  ' '  Laodamia, ' '  my  favourite  ' '  Tintern 
Abbey,"  and  many  of  those  noble  sonnets  which  you, 
like  myself,  enjoy  so  much.  His  reading  is  very  peculiar, 
but,  to  my  ear,  delightful  ;  slow,  solemn,  earnest  in 
expression  more  than  any  I  have  ever  heard  :  when  he 
reads  or  recites  in  the  open  air,  his  deep  rich  tones  seem 
to  proceed  from  a  spirit- voice,  and  belong  to  the  religion 
of  the  place  ;  they  harmonise  so  fitly  with  the  thrilling 
tones  of  woods  and  waterfalls.  His  expressions  are 
often  strikingly  poetical :  "I  would  not  give  up  the 
mists  that  spiritualise  our  mountains  for  all  the  blue 
skies  of  Italy."  Yesterday  evening  he  walked  beside 
me  as  I  rode  on  a  long  and  lovely  mountain-path  high 
above  Grasmere  Lake.  I  was  much  interested  by  his 
showing  me,  carved  deep  into  the  rock,  as  we  passed, 
the  initials  of  his  wife's  name,  inscribed  there  many  years 
ago  by  himself,  and  the  dear  old  man,  like  "  Old 
Mortality,"  renews  them  from  time  to  time  ;  I  could 
scarcely  help  exclaiming  Esto  perpetua  !  .  .  . 


Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans  to 

PAGANINI 

...  To  begin  with  the   appearance  of  the   "  foreign 
wonder," — it  is  very  different  from  what  the  indiscrimi- 


PAGANINI    THE    MAGICIAN  339 

nating  newspaper  accounts  would  lead  you  to  suppose : 
he  is  certainly  singular -looking  ;  pale,  slight,  and  with 
long,  neglected  hair  ;  but  I  saw  nothing  whatever  of 
that  wild  fire,  that  almost  ferocious  inspiration  of  mien, 
which  has  been  ascribed  to  him  ;  indeed  I  thought  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  rather  that  of  good- 
natured  and  mild  enjouement,  than  of  anything  else, — 
and  his  bearing  altogether  simple  and  natural.  His 
first  performance  consisted  of  a  tema,  with  variations, 
from  the  beautiful  Preghiera  in  "  Mose  "  :  here  I  was 
rather  disappointed,  but  merely  because  he  did  not  play 
alone.  I  suppose  the  performance  on  the  single  string 
required  the  support  of  other  instruments  ;  but  he 
occasionally  drew  from  that  string  a  tone  of  wailing, 
heart-piercing  tenderness,  almost  too  much  to  be  sus- 
tained by  any  one  whose  soul  can  give  the  full  response. 
It  was  not,  however,  till  his  second  performance,  on  all 
the  strings,  that  I  could  form  a  full  idea  of  his  varied 
magic.  A  very  delicate  accompaniment  on  the  piano 
did  not  in  the  least  interfere  with  the  singleness  of  effect 
in  this  instance.  The  subject  was  the  Venetian  air, 
"  Come  to  me  when  day-light  sets  " — how  shall  I  give 
you  a  idea  of  all  the  versatility,  the  play  of  soul,  em- 
bodied in  the  variations  upon  that  simple  air  ?  Imagine 
a  passage  of  the  most  fairy-like  delicacy,  more  aerial 
than  you  would  suppose  it  possible  for  human  touch  to 
produce,  suddenly  succeeded  by  an  absolute  parody 
of  itself  ;  the  same  notes  repeated  with  an  expression  of 
absolute  comic  humour,  which  forced  me  to  laugh, 
however  reluctantly — it  was  as  if  an  old  man,  the 
"  Ancient  Mariner  "  himself,  were  to  sing  an  impassioned 
Italian  air,  in  a  snoring  voice,  after  Pasta.  Well,  after 
one  of  these  sudden  travesties,  for  I  can  call  them 


340  FELICIA  DOROTHEA  HEMANS 

nothing  else,  the  creature  would  look  all  around  him, 
with  an  air  of  the  most  delighted  bonhomie,  exactly 
like  a  witty  child,  who  has  just  accomplished  a  piece  of 
successful  mischief.  The  pizzicato  passages  were  also 
wonderful ;  the  indescribably  rapid  notes  seemed  flung 
out  in  sparks  of  music,  with  a  triumphant  glee  which 
conveys  the  strongest  impression  I  ever  received  of 
Genius  rejoicing  over  its  own  bright  creations.  But  I 
vainly  wish  that  my  words  could  impart  to  you  a  full 
conception  of  this  wizard-like  music. 

There  was  nothing  else  of  particular  interest  in  the 
evening's  performance  ;  — a  good  deal  of  silvery  warbling 
from  Stockhausen,  but  I  never  find  it  leave  any  more 
vivid  remembrance  on  my  mind  than  the  singing  of 
birds.  I  am  wrong,  however, — I  must  except  one 
thing,  "Napoleon's  Midnight  Review," — the  music  of 
which,  by  Neukomm,  I  thought  superb.  The  words  are 
translated  from  the  German  :  they  describe  the  hollow 
sound  of  a  drum  at  midnight,  and  the  peal  of  a  ghostly 
trumpet  arousing  the  dead  hosts  of  Napoleon  from  their 
sleep  under  the  northern  snows,  and  along  the  Egyptian 
sands,  and  in  the  sunny  fields  of  Italy.  Then  another 
trumpet-blast,  and  the  chief  himself  arises,  "  with  his 
martial  cloak  around  him,"  to  review  the  whole  army  ; 
and  thus  it  concludes — "  the  password  given  is — France  ; 
the  answer — St.  Helene."  The  music,  which  is  of  a  very 
wild,  supernatural  character,  a  good  deal  in  Weber's 
incantation  style,  accords  well  with  this  grand  idea  ; 
the  single  trumpet,  followed  by  a  long,  rolling,  ominous 
sound  from  the  double-drum  made  me  quite  thrill  with 
indefinable  feelings.  Braham's  singing  was  not  equal 
to  the  instrumental  part,  but  he  did  not  disfigure  it  by 
his  customary  and  vulgarising  graces.  ...  I  enclose 


"MUSIC    LAND"  341 

you  a  programme  of  the  concert  at  which  I  again  heard 
this  triumphant  music  last  night.  It  is  impossible  for 
me  to  describe  how  much  of  intense  feeling  its  full- 
swelling,  dreamy  tones  awoke  within  me.  His  second 
performance  (the  Adagio  a  doppie  corde)  made  me 
imagine  that  I  was  then  first  wakening  in  what  a  German 
would  call  the  ' '  music  land. "  Its  predominant  expression 
was  that  of  overpowering,  passionate  regret ;  such,  at 
least,  was  the  dying  languor  of  the  long  sostenuto  notes, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  the  musician  was  himself  about  to 
let  fall  his  instrument,  and  sink  under  the  mastery  of 
his  own  emotion.  It  reminded  me,  by  some  secret  and 
strange  analogy,  of  a  statue  I  once  described  to  you, 
representing  Sappho  about  to  drop  her  lyre  in  utter 
desolation  of  heart.  This  was  immediately  followed 
by  the  rapid  flashing  music — for  the  strings  were  as  if 
they  sent  out  lightning  in  their  glee — of  the  most  joyous 
rondo  by  Kreutzer  you  can  imagine.  The  last  piece,  the 
"  Dance  of  the  Witches,"  is  a  complete  exemplification 
of  the  grotesque  in  music — some  parts  of  it  imitate  the 
quavering,  garrulous  voices  of  very  old  women,  half 
scolding,  half  complaining — and  then  would  come  a 
burst  of  wild,  fantastic,  half-fearful  gladness.  I  think 
Burns's  "  Tarn  O'Shanter  "  (not  Mr.  Thorn's — by  way  of 
contrast  to  Sappho)  something  of  a  parallel  in  poetry 
to  this  strange  production  in  music.  I  saw  more  of 
Paganini's  countenance  last  night,  and  was  still  more 
pleased  with  it  than  before  ;  the  original  mould  in  which 
it  has  been  cast  is  of  a  decidedly  fine  and  intellectual 
character,  though  the  features  are  so  worn  by  the 
wasting  fire  which  appears  his  vital  element.  ...  I 
did  not  hear  Paganini  again  after  the  performance  I 
described  to  you,  but  I  received  a  very  eloquent  descrip- 


342  FELICIA   DOROTHEA   HEMANS 

tion  from of  a  subsequent  triumph  of  his  genius. 

It  was  a  concerto,  of  a  dramatic  character,  and  intended, 
as  I  was  told,  to  embody  the  little  tale  of  a  wanderer 
sinking  to  sleep  in  a  solitary  place  at  midnight.  He  is 
supposed  to  be  visited  by  a  solemn  and  impressive  vision, 
imagined  in  music  of  the  most  thrilling  style.  Then, 
after  all  his  lonely  fears  and  wild  fantasies,  the  day- 
spring  breaks  upon  him  in  a  triumphant  rondo,  and  all 
is  joy  and  gladness.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  related  to  me  a  most  interesting  con- 
versation he  had  held  with  Paganini  in  a  private  circle. 
The  latter  was  describing  to  him  the  sufferings  (do  you 
remember  a  line  of  Bryon's, 

The  starry  Galileo,  with  his  woes  ?) 

by  which  he  pays  for  his  consummate  excellence.  He 
scarcely  knows  what  sleep  is,  and  his  nerves  are  wrought 
to  such  almost  preternatural  acuteness,  that  harsh,  even 
common  sounds,  are  often  torture  to  him  :  he  is  some- 
times unable  to  bear  a  whisper  in  his  room.  His  passion 
for  music  he  described  as  an  all-absorbing,  a  consuming 
one ;  in  fact,  he  looks  as  if  no  other  life  than  that  ethereal 
one  of  melody  were  circulating  within  his  veins  :  but  he 
added,  with  a  glow  of  triumph  kindling  through  deep 
sadness,  "  Mais  c'est  un  don  du  del/"  I  heard  all  this, 
which  was  no  more  than  I  had  fully  imagined,  with  a 
still  deepening  conviction  that  it  is  the  gifted  beyond 
all  others — those  whom  the  multitude  believe  to  be 
rejoicing  in  their  own  fame,  strong  in  their  own  resources 
— who  have  most  need  of  true  hearts  to  rest  upon,  and 
of  hope  in  God  to  support  them."  .  .  . 


THE    CONCERTO  343 

JOANNA   BAILLIE   (1762-1851) 

POETESS,  was  the  daughter  of  a  Professor  of  Divinity  in 
Glasgow.  At  the  age  of  44,  in  1806,  she  settled,  with  her 
sister  Agnes,  at  Hampstead,  where  she  remained  until  her 
death.  Her  nine  Plays  on  the  Passions  are  considered 
her  greatest  achievement ;  she  wrote  a  tragedy  entitled 
De  Montfort,  which  was  produced  at  Drury  Lane,  Mrs. 
Siddons  and  Kemble  playing  the  leading  parts.  Miss  Baillie 
was  a  general  favourite  and  won  the  admiration  of  all  her 
literary  friends,  amongst  whom  was  Sir  Walter  Scott,  a  great 
admirer  of  her  beautiful  ballads. 


To  Samuel  Rogers  l 

FRIENDLY   CRITICISM 

HAMPSTEAD,  Friday,  February  2  [1832]. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  ROGERS, — You  once  called  me,  and  not 
very  long  ago,  an  ungrateful  hussey,  and  I  remember 
it  the  better  because  I  really  thought  I  deserved  it. 
But  whether  I  did  or  not,  when  I  tell  you  now  that 
I  have  read  Sir  John  Herschell's  book  twice,  or  rather 
three  times  over,  have  been  the  better  for  it  both  in 
understanding  and  heart,  and  mean  to  read  parts  of 
it  again  ere  long,  you  will  not  repent  having  bestowed 
it  upon  me.  And  now  I  mean  to  thank  you  for  another 
obligation  that  you  are  not  so  well  aware  of.  Do  you 
remember  when  I  told  you,  a  good  while  since,  of  my 
intention  of  looking  over  all  my  works  to  correct  them 
for  an  edition  to  be  published  after  my  decease,  should 

1  This  letter  is  reprinted  from  Mr.  P.  W.  Clayden's  "  Rogers 
and  his  Contemporaries/'  by  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  Smith, 
Elder  &  Co. 


344  JOANNA    BAILLIE 

it  be  called  for,  and  you  giving  me  a  hint  never  to  let  a 
which  stand  where  a  that  might  serve  the  purpose,  to 
prefer  the  words  while  to  whilst,  among  to  amongst,  etc.  ? 
I  acquiesced  in  all  this  most  readily,  throwing  as  much 
scorn  upon  the  rejected  expressions  as  anybody  would 
do,  and  with  all  the  ease  of  one  who  from  natural  taste 
had  always  avoided  them.  If  you  do,  you  will  guess 
what  has  been  my  surprise  and  mortification  to  find 
through  whole  pages  of  even  my  last  dramas,  "  whiches," 
"  whilsts  "  and  "  amongsts,"  etc.,  where  they  need  not 
have  been,  in  abundance.  Well,  I  have  profited  by 
your  hint,  though  I  was  not  aware  that  I  needed  it  at 
the  time  when  it  was  given,  and  now  I  thank  you  for 
it  very  sincerely.  I  cannot  imagine  how  I  came  to 
make  this  mistake,  if  it  had  not  been  that,  in  writing 
songs,  I  have  often  rejected  the  words  in  question  be- 
cause they  do  not  sound  well  in  singing.  I  have 
very  lately  finished  my  corrections,  and  now  all  my 
literary  tasks  are  finished.  It  is  time  they  should, 
and  more  serious  thoughts  fill  up  their  room,  or  ought 
to  do. 

I  hear  of  your  sister  from  time  to  time  by  our  neigh- 
bours here,  and  of  yourself  now  and  then.  I  hope  you 
continue  to  have  this  variable  winter  with  impunity. 
We  also  hear  that  your  nephew  continues  to  recover, 
though  more  slowly  than  his  friends  could  wish.  Being 
so  young  a  man  gives  one  confidence  in  the  progress  he 
makes.  My  sister  and  I  are  both  confined  to  the  house, 
but  with  no  very  great  ailments  to  complain  of.  We 
both  unite  in  all  kind  wishes  and  regards  to  you  and 
Miss  Rogers. 

Very  truly  and  gratefully  yours, 

J.  BAILLIE. 


THE    FUTURE    OF    WOMEN  345 

HARRIET    MARTINEAU    (1802-1876) 

BORN  at  Norwich,  she  began  her  literary  career  in  1821 
with  an  article  for  the  Monthly  Repository,  and  some  short 
stories.  By  1832  she  had  an  assured  position  as  a  writer 
on  political  economy,  novels,  and  stories  for  children ;  but 
her  most  ambitious  work  was  the  "  History  of  England 
during  the  Thirty  Years  Peace,  1816-46."  Miss  Martineau 
contributed  to  The  Daily  News  from  1852-66,  and  to  other 
papers  and  periodicals.  She  was  democratic  in  her  opinions 
and  a  believer  in  the  intellectual  powers  of  her  own  sex. 
She  died  at  Ambleside,  where  she  resided  for  many  years. 


To  Mrs.  Chapman  l 

THE   FUTURE    OF   WOMEN 

DEAR  FRIEND, — I  have  seen  Garrison  ;  and  among  all 
the  pleasures  of  this  meeting  I  seem  to  have  been  brought 
nearer  to  you.  If  I  were  well  and  had  health,  and  if 
my  mother's  life  were  not  so  fast  bound  down  to  mine 
as  it  is,  I  think  I  could  not  help  coming  to  live  beside 
you.  Great  ifs  and  many  of  them.  But  I  dream  of 
a  life  devoted  to  you  and  your  cause,  and  the  very 
dream  is  cheering.  I  have  not  been  out  of  these  rooms 
for  months,  and  now  I  begin  to  doubt  whether  I  shall 
ever  again  step  across  their  threshold.  I  may  go 
on  just  as  I  am,  for  years,  and  it  may  end  any  day  ; 
yet  I  am  not  worse  than  when  I  last  wrote. 

We  had  a  happy  day,  we  four,  when  Garrison  was 
here.  I  am  sure  he  was  happy.  How  gay  he  is  !  He 
left  us  with  a  new  life  in  us. 

1  Reprinted  from  Harriet  Martineau's  "  Autobiography,"  by 
the  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  Smith,  Elder  &  Co. 


346  HARRIET    MARTINEAU 

Garrison  was  quite  right,  I  think,  to  sit  in  the  gallery 
at  Convention.  I  conclude  you  think  so.  It  has 
done  much  for  the  woman  question,  I  am  persuaded. 
You  will  live  to  see  a  great  enlargement  of  our  scope, 
I  trust ;  but  what  with  the  vices  of  some  women  and 
the  fears  of  others,  it  is  hard  work  for  us  to  assert  our 
liberty.  I  will,  however,  till  I  die,  and  so  will  you, 
and  so  make  it  easier  for  some  few  to  follow  us  than 
it  was  for  poor  Mary  Wollstonecraft  to  begin.  .  .  . 

Believe  me  ever  your  faithful  and  affectionate 

HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


SARA    COLERIDGE    (1802-1852) 

THE  only  daughter  of  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  ;  she  married, 
in  1829,  her  cousin,  Henry  Nelson  Coleridge.  Her  works 
consist  of  an  essay  on  "  Rationalism,"  an  Introduction  to 
her  father's  "  Biographia  Literaria,"  also  a  fairy  tale  "  Phan- 
tasmion,"  and  "  Pretty  Lessons  for  Good  Children." 


To  hev  Husband**- 
A  MOTHER'S  PORTRAIT 

NAB  COTTAGE,  GRASMERE  [1833]. 

....  You  say  you  cannot  bring  before  your  mind's 
eye  our  little  Herby.  A  mother  is  qualified  to  draw 
a  child's  portrait,  if  close  study  of  the  original  be  a 
qualification.  High  colouring  may  be  allowed  for.  I 
will  try  to  give  you  some  notion  of  our  child.  He 

1  The  following  letters  of  Mrs.  Coleridge  are  reprinted,  from  her 
Memoirs  and  Letters,  edited  by  her  daughter,  by  permission  oi 
Messrs.  Kegan  Paul,  Trench,  Triibner  &  Co.,  Ltd. 


ROSE-COLOURED    SPECTACLES          347 

is  too  even  a  mixture  of  both  father  and  mother  to  be 
strikingly  like  either  ;  and  this  is  the  more  natural,  as 
Henry  and  I  have  features  less  definite  than  our  ex- 
pressions. This  may,  perhaps,  account  for  the  flowing 
softness  and  more  than  childlike  indefiniteness  of 
outline  which  our  boy's  face  presents  ;  it  is  all  colour 
and  expression — such  varying  expression  as  consists 
with  the  sort  of  corporeal  moulding  which  I  have 
described,  in  which  the  vehicle  is  lost  sight  of,  and  the 
material  of  the  veil  is  obscured  by  the  brightness  of 
what  shines  through  it — not  that  pointed  sort  of  fixed 
expression  which  seems  more  mechanically  formed 
by  strong  lines  and  angular  features.  To  be  more 
particular,  he  has  round  eyes,  and  a  round  nose,  and 
round  lips  and  cheeks  ;  and  he  has  deep  blue  eyes, 
which  vary  from  stone-grey  to  skiey  azure,  according 
to  influences  of  light  and  shade  ;  and  yellowish  light- 
brown  hair,  and  cheeks  and  lips  rosy  up  to  the  very 
deepest,  brightest  tint  of  childish  rosyhood.  He 
will  not  be  a  handsome  man,  but  he  is  a  pretty  repre- 
sentative of  three  years  old,  as  D was  a  "  repre- 
sentative baby ; ' '  and  folks  who  put  the  glossy  side  of 
their  opinions  outermost  for  the  gratified  eyes  of  mothers 
and  nurses,  and  all  that  large  class  with  whom  rosy 
cheeks  are  beginning,  middle,  and  end  of  beauty  say 
enough  to  make  me — as  vain  as  I  am.  I  don't  pretend 
to  any  exemption  from  the  general  lot  of  parental 
delusion :  I  mean  that,  like  most  other  parents,  I  see 
my  child  through  an  atmosphere  which  illuminates, 
magnifies,  and  at  the  same  time  refines  the  object  to 
a  degree  that  amounts  to  a  delusion,  at  least,  unless 
we  are  aware  that  to  other  eyes  it  appears  by  the  light 
of  common  day  only.  My  father  says  that  those  who 


348  SARA    COLERIDGE 

love  intensely  see  more  clearly  than  indifferent  persons  ; 
they  see  minutenesses  which  escape  other  eyes  ;  they 
see  "the  very  pulse  of  the  machine."  Doubtless; 
but  then,  don't  they  magnify  them  by  looking  through 
the  medium  of  their  own  partiality  ?  Don't  they  raise 
into  undue  relative  importance  by  exclusive  gazing; 
don't  wishes  and  hopes,  indulged  and  cherished  long, 
turn  into  realities,  as  the  rapt  astronomer  gazed  upon 
the  stars,  and  mused  on  human  knowledge,  and  longed 
for  magic  power,  till  he  believed  that  he  directed  the 
sun's  course  and  the  sweet  influences  of  the  Pleiades  ? 
To  return  to  our  son  and  heir  ;  he  is  an  impetuous, 
vivacious  child,  and  the  softer  moments  of  such  are 
particularly  touching  (so  thinks  the  mother  of  a  ve- 
hement urchin).  I  lately  asked  him  the  meaning  of 
a  word  ;  he  turned  his  rosy  face  to  the  window,  and 
cast  up  the  full  blue  eyes,  which  looked  liquid  in  the 
light,  in  the  short  hush  of  childish  contemplation. 
The  innocent  though tfulness,  contrasted  with  his  usual 
noisy  mirth  and  rapidity,  struck  my  fancy.  I  had 
never  before  seen  him  condescend  to  make  an  effort 
at  recollection.  The  word  usually  passed  from  his 
lips  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow  ;  and  if  not  forthcoming 
instantly  there  was  an  absolute  unconcern  as  to  its 
fate  in  the  region  of  memory.  The  necessity  of  brain- 
racking  is  not  among  the  number  of  his  discoveries  in 
the  (to  him)  new  world.  All  wears  the  freshness  and 
the  glory  of  a  dream ;  and  the  stale,  flat,  and  unprofit- 
able, and  the  improbus  labor,  and  the  sadness  and 
despondency,  are  all  behind  that  visionary  haze  which 
hides  the  dull  reality,  the  mournful  future  of  man's 
life.  You  may  well  suppose  that  I  look  on  our  darling 
boy  with  many  fears;  but  "fortitude  and  patient 


A    WOMAN'S    RECREATIONS  349 

cheer  "  must  recall  me  from  such  "  industrious  folly," 
and  faith  and  piety  must  tell  me  that  this  is  not  to  be 
his  home  for  ever,  and  that  the  glories  of  this  world 
are  lent  but  to  spiritualise  us  to  incite  us  to  look  up- 
ward ;  and  that  the  trials  which  I  dread  for  my  darling 
are  but  part  of  his  Maker's  general  scheme  of  goodness 
and  wisdom. 


Sara  Coleridge  to  her  Eldest  Brother 

WOMEN    AND    BOOKS 

January  1840. 

I  have  a  strong  opinion  that  a  genuine  love  of  books 
is  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  of  life  for  man  and 
woman,  and  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  by  persons 
in  our  middle  station  it  may  be  enjoyed  (more  at  one 
time,  less  at  another,  but  certainly  during  the  course 
of  life  to  a  great  extent  enjoyed)  without  neglect  of 
any  duty.  A  woman  may  house-keep  if  she  chooses, 
from  morning  to  night,  or  she  may  be  constantly  at 
her  needle,  or  she  may  be  always  either  receiving  or 
preparing  for  company  ;  but  whatever  those  who  practise 
these  things  may  say,  it  is  not  necessary  in  most  cases 
for  a  woman  to  spend  her  whole  time  in  this  manner. 
Now  I  cannot  but  think  that  the  knowledge  of  the 
ancient  languages  very  greatly  enchances  the  pleasure 
taken  in  literature — that  it  gives  depth  and  variety 
to  reading,  and  makes  almost  every  book,  in  whatever 
language,  more  thoroughly  understood.  I  observe 
that  music  and  drawing  are  seldom  pursued  after 
marriage.  In  many  cases  of  weak  health  they  cannot 
be  pursued,  and  they  do  not  tell  in  the  intercourse 
of  society  and  in  conversation  as  this  sort  of  informa- 


350  JANE    WELSH    CARLYLfi 

tion  does,  even  when  not  a  word  of  Greek  or  Latin  is 
either  uttered  or  alluded  to. 


JANE    WELSH    CARLYLE    (1801-1866) 

HEIRESS  and  only  daughter  of  Dr.  John  Welsh,  she  was 
known  as  "  The  Flower  of  Haddington,"  and  in  1826 
became  the  wife  of  Thomas  Carlyle.  Mrs.  Carlyle  possessed 
a  keen  intellect,  and  was  undoubtedly  of  the  greatest  help  to 
her  husband,  who  always  sought  her  advice  in  connection 
with  his  literary  work.  Her  tragically  sudden  death  occurred 
whilst  driving  in  the  Park. 


To  Mrs.  Thomas  Carlyle,  sen.  i 

NEW   FASHIONS 

CHELSEA,  November  1834. 

.  .  .  The  weather  is  grown  horribly  cold,  and  I  am 
chiefly  intent,  at  present,  on  getting  my  winter  wardrobe 
into  order.  I  have  made  up  the  old  black  gown  (which 
was  dyed  puce  for  me  at  Dumfries)  with  my  own 
hands  ;  it  looks  twenty  per  cent,  better  than  when  it 
was  new  ;  and  I  shall  get  no  other  this  winter.  I  am 
now  turning  my  pelisse.  I  went  yesterday  to  a  milliner's 
to  buy  a  bonnet ;  an  old,  very  ugly  lady,  upwards  of 
seventy,  I  am  sure,  was  bargaining  about  a  cloak  at 
the  same  place ;  it  was  a  fine  affair  of  satin  and  velvet ; 
but  she  declared  repeatedly  that  "  it  had  no  air"  and  for 
her  part  she  could  not  put  on  such  a  thing.  My  bonnet, 
I  flatter  myself,  has  an  air  ;  a  little  brown  feather  nods 

1  The  following  letters  of  Mrs.  Carlyle  are  reprinted  from  her 
Correspondence  by  kind  permission  of  Mr.  Alexander  Carlyle  and 
of  Messrs.  Longmans,  Green  &  Co. 


JANE  BAILLIE  WELSH 
(MRS.  CARLYLE) 

From  the  miniature  by  Kenneth  Macleay  (painted  in  July  1826), 
by  permission  of  Mr.  Alexander  Carlyle 

•350] 


FASHIONS    BELOW-STAIRS  351 

over  the  front  of  it,  and  the  crown  points  like  a  sugar- 
loaf  !  The  diameter  of  the  fashionable  ladies  at  present 
is  about  three  yards  ;  their  bustles  are  the  size  of  an 
ordinary  sheep's  fleece.  The  very  servant-girls  wear 
bustles  !  Eliza  Miles  told  me  a  maid  of  theirs  went 
out  one  Sunday  with  three  kitchen  dusters  pinned  on 
as  a  substitute.  .  .  . 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  to  Thomas  Carlyle 

A    POET'S    PRIVILEGES 

CHELSEA,  October  12,  1835. 

.  .  .  Mother  and  I  have  fallen  naturally  into  a  fair 
division  of  labour,  and  we  keep  a  very  tidy  house. 
Sereetha  has  attained  the  unhoped-for  perfection  of 
getting  up  at  half  after  six  of  her  own  accord,  lighting 
the  parlour  fire,  and  actually  placing  the  breakfast 
things  (nil  desperandum  me  duce  /).  I  get  up  at  half 
after  seven,  and  prepare  the  coffee  and  bacon-ham 
(which  is  the  life  of  me,  making  me  always  hungrier 
the  more  I  eat  of  it).  Mother,  in  the  interim,  makes 
her  bed  and  sorts  her  room.  After  breakfast,  mother 
descends  to  the  inferno,  where  she  jingles  and  scours, 
and  from  time  to  time  scolds  Sereetha  till  all  is  right 
and  tight  there.  I,  above  stairs,  sweep  the  parlour, 
blacken  the  grate — make  the  room  look  cleaner  than 
it  has  been  since  the  days  of  Grace  Macdonald  *  ;  then 
mount  aloft  to  make  my  own  bed  (for  I  was  resolved 
to  enjoy  the  privilege  of  having  a  bed  of  my  own) ; 
then  clean  myself  (as  the  servants  say),  and  sit  down 
to  the  Italian  lesson.  A  bit  of  meat  roasted  at  the  oven 
i  A  former  servant. 


352  JANE    WELSH    CARLYLE 

suffices  two  days  cold,  and  does  not  plague  us  with 
cookery.  Sereetha  can  fetch  up  tea-things,  and  the 
porridge  is  easily  made  on  the  parlour-fire  ;  the  kitchen 
one  being  allowed  to  go  out  (for  economy),  when  the 
Pees  weep  l  retires  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock.  ...  Our 
visiting  has  been  confined  to  one  dinner  and  two  teas 
at  the  Sterlings',  and  a  tea  at  [Leigh]  Hunt's.  You 

must  know, came  the  day  after  you  went,  and  stayed 

two  days.  As  she  desired  above  all  things  to  see  Hunt, 
I  wrote  him  a  note,  asking  if  I  might  bring  her  up  to 
call.  He  replied  he  was  just  setting  off  to  town,  but 
would  look  in  at  eight  o'clock.  I  supposed  this,  as 
usual,  a  mere  off-put ;  but  he  actually  came — found 

Pepoli  as  well  as  Miss  ,  was  amazingly  lively,  and 

very  lasting,  for  he  stayed  till  near  twelve.  Between 
ourselves,  it  gave  me  a  poorish  opinion  of  him,  to  see 

how  uplifted  to  the  third  heaven  he  seemed  by 's 

compliments  and  sympathising  talk.     He  asked  us  all, 

with  enthusiasm,  to  tea  the  following  Monday. Came 

on  purpose,   and   slept  here.     He  sang,   talked  like   a 

pen-gun,  ever  to  ,  who  drank  it  all  in  like  nectar, 

while  my  mother  looked  cross  enough,  and  I  had  to  listen 
to  the  whispered  confidences  of  Mrs.  Hunt.  But  for 
me,  who  was  declared  to  be  grown  "  quite  prim  and 
elderly,"  I  believe  they  would  have  communicated 
their  mutual  experiences  in  a  retired  window-seat  till 

morning.      "God  bless  you,  Miss ,"  was   repeated 

by  Hunt  three  several  times  in  tones  of  ever-increasing 
pathos  and  tenderness,  as  he  handed  her  downstairs 

behind   me.     ,   for  once  in  her  life,    seemed   past 

speech.     At  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  a  demur  took  place. 
I  saw  nothing  ;  but  I  heard,  with  my  wonted  glegness — 
i  Peewit. 


TEA    AT    LEIGH    HUNT'S  353 

what  think  you  ? — a  couple  of  handsome  smacks  ! 
and  then  an  almost  inaudibly  soft  "  God  bless  you, 
Miss !  " 

Now  just  remember  what  sort  of  looking  woman  is 

;   and  figure  their  transaction  !     If  he  had  kissed 

me,  it  would  have  been  intelligible,  but ,  of  all 

people  !  .  .  . 

You  will  come  back  strong  and  cheerful,  will  you 
not  ?  I  wish  you  were  come  anyhow.  Don't  take 
much  castor ;  eat  plenty  of  chicken  broth  rather. 
Dispense  my  love  largely.  Mother  returns  your  kiss 
with  interest.  We  go  on  tolerably  enough  ;  but  she 
has  vowed  to  hate  all  my  people  except  Pepoli.  So 
that  there  is  ever  a  "  dark  brown  shadd  "  in  all  my 
little  reunions.  She  has  given  me  a  glorious  black 
velvet  gown,  realising  my  beau  ideal  of  Putz  ! 

Did  you  take  away  my  folding  penknife  ?  We  are 
knifeless  here.  We  were  to  have  gone  to  Richmond 
to-day  with  the  Silver -headed,  but  to  my  great  relief, 
it  turned  out  that  the  steamboat  is  not  running. 

God  keep  you,  my  own  dear  husband,  and  bring 
you  safe  back  to  me.  The  house  looks  very  empty 
without  you,  and  my  mind  feels  empty  too. 

Your  JANE. 


Jane  Welsh  Cavlyle  to  Thomas  Carlyle 

THE    DELAYED    LETTER 

SEAFORTH,  Tuesday,  July  14,  1846. 

Oh  !  my  dear  Husband,  Fortune  has  played  me  such 
a  cruel  trick  this  day  !  But  it  is  all  right  now ;  and  I 
do  not  even  feel  any  resentment  against  Fortune  for  the 

23 


354  JANE    WELSH    CARLYLE 

suffocating  misery  of  the  last  two  hours.  I  know  always, 
even  when  I  seem  to  you  most  exacting,  that  whatever 
happens  to  me  is  nothing  like  so  bad  as  I  deserve.  But 
you  shall  hear  all  how  it  was. 

.  .  .  Not  a  line  from  you  on  my  Birthday  —  on 
the  fifth  day !  I  did  not  burst  out  crying — did  not 
faint — did  not  do  anything  absurd,  so  far  as  I  know, 
but  I  walked  back  again,  without  speaking  a  word  ; 
and  with  such  a  tumult  of  wretchedness  in  my  heart 
as  you  who  know  me  can  conceive.  And  then  I 
shut  myself  in  my  own  room  to  fancy  everything 
that  was  most  tormenting.  Were  you,  finally,  so 
out  of  patience  with  me  that  you  had  resolved  to 
write  to  me  no  more  at  all  ?  Had  you  gone  to  Addis- 
combe,  and  found  no  leisure  there  to  remember  my 
existence  ?  Were  you  taken  ill,  so  ill  that  you  could 
not  write  ?  That  last  idea  made  me  mad  to  get  off 
to  the  railway,  and  back  to  London.  Oh,  mercy  ! 
what  a  two  hours  I  had  of  it !  And  just  when  I 
was  at  my  wit's  end,  I  heard  Julia  crying  out 
thro'  the  house  :  "  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Mrs.  Carry le !  are 
you  there  ?  Here  is  a  letter  for  you  !  "  And  so 
there  was  after  all !  The  post-mistress  had  over- 
looked it,  and  given  it  to  Robert,  when  he  went 
afterwards,  not  knowing  that  we  had  been.  I 
wonder  what  Love-letter  was  ever  received  with  such 
thankfulness  !  Oh,  my  Dear  !  I  am  not  fit  for  living 
in  the  world  with  this  organisation.  I  am  as  much 
broken  to  pieces  by  that  little  accident  as  if  I  had 
come  thro'  an  attack  of  cholera  or  typhus  fever.  I 
cannot  even  steady  my  hand  to  write  decently.  But 
I  felt  an  irresistible  need  of  thanking  you,  by  return 
of  post.  Yes,  I  have  kissed  the  dear  little  Card-case  ; 


THE    SILK    JACKET  355 

and  now  I  will  lie  down  a  while,  and  try  to  get  some 
sleep,  at  least  to  quieten  myself.  I  will  try  to  believe 
— oh,  why  cannot  I  believe  it,  once  for  all — that,  with 
all  my  faults  and  follies,  I  am  "  dearer  to  you  than 
any  earthly  creature !  "  I  will  be  better  for  Geraldine 
here ;  she  is  become  very  quiet  and  nice,  and  as 
affectionate  for  me  as  ever. 

Your  own 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Russell 

HOME    DRESSMAKING 

5,  CHEYNE  Row,  CHELSEA,  Friday,  January  28,  1860. 
DEAREST  MARY — A  letter  from  me  would  have  crossed 
yours  (with  the  book)  on  the  road,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  a  jacket !  Things  are  so  oddly  hooked  together 
in  this  world.  The  connection  in  this  case  is  simple 
enough.  I  needed  a  little  jacket  for  home  wear,  and 
possessing  a  superfluous  black  silk  scarf,  I  resolved, 
in  a  moment  of  economical  enthusiasm,  to  make  with 
my  own  hands  a  jacket  out  of  it.  For  in  spite  of  the 
"  thirty  thousand  distressed  needlewomen  "  one  hears 
so  much  of,  the  fact  remains  that  nobody  can  get  a 
decent  article  of  dress  made  here,  unless  at  enormous 
cost.  And  besides,  the  dressmakers  who  can  fit  one 
won't  condescend  to  make  anything  but  with  their 
own  materials.  So  I  fell  to  cutting  out  that  jacket 
last  Monday,  and  only  finished  it  to-day  (Friday)  ! 
and  was  so  much  excited  over  the  unusual  nature  of 
the  enterprise  (for  I  detest  sewing,  and  don't  sew 
for  weeks  together)  that  I  could  not  leave  off,  for 
anything  that  could  be  postponed,  till  the  jacket  was 


356  JANE    WELSH    CARLYLE 

out  of  hands.  But,  Lord  preserve  me,  what  a  bother ; 
better  to  have  bought  one  ready-made  at  the  dearest 
rate.  I  won't  take  a  needle  in  my  hands,  except  to  sew 
on  Mr.  C.'s  buttons,  for  the  next  six  months.  By  the 
way,  would  you  like  the  shape  of  my  jacket,  which 
is  of  the  newest  ?  I  have  it  on  paper,  and  could  send  it 
to  you  quite  handy. 

Oh,  my  dear,  I  am  very  much  afraid  the  reading  of 
that  book  will  be  an  even  more  uncongenial  job  of  work 
for  me  than  the  jacket,  and  won't  have  as  much  to  show 
for  itself  when  done.  If  there  be  one  thing  I  dislike 
more  than  theology  it  is  geology.  And  here  we  have 
both,  beaten  up  in  the  same  mortar,  and  incapable, 
by  any  amount  of  beating,  to  coalesce.  What  could 
induce  any  live  woman  to  fall  a-writing  that  sort  of 
book  ?  And  a  decidedly  clever  woman — I  can  see 
that  much  from  the  little  I  have  already  read  of  it 
here  and  there.  She  expresses  her  meaning  very 
clearly  and  elegantly  too.  If  it  were  only  on  any 
subject  I  could  get  up  an  interest  in,  I  should  read 
her  writing  with  pleasure.  But  even  when  Darwin, 
in  a  book  that  all  the  scientific  world  is  in  ecstasy  over, 
proved  the  other  day  that  we  are  all  come  from  shell- 
fish, it  didn't  move  me  to  the  slightest  curiosity  whether 
we  are  or  not.  I  did  not  feel  that  the  slightest  light 
would  be  thrown  on  my  practical  life  for  me,  by  having 
it  ever  so  logically  made  out  that  my  first  ancestor, 
millions  of  millions  of  ages  back,  had  been,  or  even 
had  not  been,  an  oyster.  It  remained  a  plain  fact 
that  /  was  no  oyster,  nor  had  no  grandfather  oyster 
within  my  knowledge :  and  for  the  rest,  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gained,  for  this  world,  or  the  next,  by 
going  into  the  oyster-question,  till  all  more-pressing 


THEOLOGY  AND  GEOLOGY      357 

questions  were  exhausted  !  So — if  I  can't  read  Darwin, 
it  may  be  feared  I  shall  break  down  in  Mrs.  Duncan. 
Thanks  to  you,  however,  for  the  book,  which  will  be 
welcome  to  several  of  my  acquaintances.  There  is 
quite  a  mania  for  geology  at  present,  in  the  female 
mind.  My  next-door  neighbour  would  prefer  a  book 
like  Mrs.  Duncan's  to  Homer's  "  Iliad  "  or  Milton's 
"  Paradise  Lost."  There  is  no  accounting  for  tastes. 

I  have  done  my  visit  to  the  Grange  and  got  no  hurt 
by  it ;  and  it  was  quite  pleasant  while  it  lasted.  The 
weather  was  mild,  and  besides,  the  house  is  so  completely 
warmed,  with  warm-water  pipes,  that  it  is  like  summer 
there  in  the  coldest  weather.  The  house  was  choke-ful 
of  visitors — four-and-twenty  of  us,  most  of  the  time. 
And  the  toilettes  !  Nothing  could  exceed  their  mag- 
nificence ;  for  there  were  four  young,  new-married 
ladies,  among  the  rest,  all  vieing  with  each  other  who  to 
be  finest.  The  blaze  of  diamonds,  every  day  at  dinner, 
quite  took  the  shine  out  of  the  chandeliers.  As  for 
myself,  I  got  through  the  dressing-part  of  the  business 
by  a  sort  of  continuous  miracle,  and  after  the  first  day, 
had  no  bother  with  myself  of  any  sort.  The  Lady 
was  kindness'  self  and  gave  general  satisfaction. 
Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 


COUNTESS    OF    BLESSINGTON    (1789-1849) 

DAUGHTER  of  Edward  Power,  an  Irish  squire  ;  in  1817  she 
married  the  Earl  of  Blessington.  Her  rank,  beauty,  and 
accomplishments  soon  made  her  the  centre  of  a  brilliant 
circle,  both  on  the  Continent,  where  she  toured  with  her 


358  COUNTESS    OF    BLESSINGTON 

husband,  or  at  Gore  House,  where  she  lavishly  entertained 
her  friends.  While  abroad  she  met  and  became  a  friend  of 
Byron,  and  later  wrote  her  recollections  in  the  work  "  Con- 
versations with  Lord  Byron."  After  her  husband's  death 
she  wrote  novels,  edited  the  Annual,  "  Book  of  Beauty,"  and 
made  a  large  income  from  their  proceeds.  Her  extravagance 
obliged  her  to  leave  Gore  House,  and  in  1849  she  settled  in 
Paris,  where  she  died  the  same  year. 


To  Walter  Savage  Landor 

FRIENDSHIP 

Thursday  Evening  [1835]. 

I  send  you  the  engraving,  and  have  only  to  wish 
that  it  may  sometimes  remind  you  of  the  original. 
You  are  associated  in  my  memory  with  some  of  my 
happiest  days  ;  you  were  the  friend,  and  the  highly 
valued  friend,  of  my  dear  and  lamented  husband, 
and  as  such,  even  without  any  of  the  numberless  claims 
you  have  to  my  regard,  you  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
highly  esteemed.  If  appears  to  me  that  I  have  not 
quite  lost  him  who  made  life  dear  to  me,  when  I  am 
near  those  he  loved,  and  that  knew  how  to  value  him. 
Five  fleeting  years  have  gone  by  since  our  delicious 
evenings  on  the  lovely  Arno,  evenings  never  to  be 
forgotten,  and  the  recollections  of  which  ought  to 
cement  the  friendships  then  formed.  This  effect,  I 
can  in  truth  say,  has  been  produced  on  me,  and  I 
look  forward,  with  confidence,  to  keeping  alive,  by  a 
frequent  correspondence,  the  friendship  you  owe  me, 
no  less  for  that  I  feel  for  you,  but  as  the  widow  of  one 
you  loved,  and  that  truly  loved  you.  We,  or,  more 
properly  speaking,  I,  live  in  a  world  where  friendship  is 


PLATONIC    FRIENDSHIP  359 

little  known ;  and  were  it  not  for  one  or  two  individuals 
like  yourself  I  might  be  tempted  to  exclaim  with  Socrates, 
"  My  friends;  there  are  no  friends!"  Let  us  prove 
that  the  philosopher  was  wrong,  and  if  Fate  has  denied 
the  comfort  of  meeting,  let  us  by  letters  keep  up  our 
friendly  intercourse.  You  will  tell  me  what  you  think 
and  feel  in  your  Tuscan  retirement,  and  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  do,  in  this  modern  Babylon,  where  thinking 
and  feeling  are  almost  unknown.  Have  I  not  reason 
to  complain,  that  in  your  sojourn  in  London  you  did 
not  give  me  a  single  day  ?  And  yet  methinks  you 
promised  to  stay  a  week,  and  that  of  that  week  I  should 
have  my  share.  I  rely  on  your  promise  of  coming  to 
see  me  again  before  you  leave  London,  and  I  console 
myself  for  the  disappointment  of  seeing  so  little  of  you, 
by  recollecting  the  welcome  and  the  happiness  that 
wait  you  at  home.  Long  may  you  enjoy  it,  is  the 
sincere  wish  of  your  attached  friend. 

P.S. — I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  what  you  think  of  the 
M.  Blessington  "  Conversations."  I  could  have  made 
them  better,  but  they  would  no  longer  have  been,  as 
they  now  are,  genuine. 


ELIZABETH  CLEGHORN  GASKELL  (1810-1865) 

WAS  born  at  Chelsea,  the  daughter  of  a  Mr.  Stevenson.  She 
spent  her  early  years  at  Knutsford  (the  original  of  her  Cran- 
ford).  At  the  age  of  twenty- two  she  married  William 
Gaskell,  a  Unitarian  minister  at  Manchester,  and  in  1848 
she  began  her  literary  career  with  the  publication  of  her 
story,  "  Mary  Barton,"  which  was  rapidly  followed  by  her 
other  well-known  novels,  and  in  1857  her  famous  biography 
of  Charlotte  Bronte. 


360        ELIZABETH   CLEGHORN   GASKELL 

To  a  Friend 

CHARLOTTE    BRONTE    AT   HAWORTH 

[September  1853.] 

It  was  a  dull,  drizzly,  Indian-inky  day  all  the  way 
on  the  railroad  to  Keighley,  which  is  a  rising  wool- 
manufacturing  town,  lying  in  a  hollow  between  hills — 
not  a  pretty  hollow,  but  more  what  the  Yorkshire  people 
call  a  "  bottom,"  or  "  botham."  I  left  Keighley  in  a 
car  for  Haworth,  four  miles  off — four  tough,  steep, 
scrambling  miles,  the  road  winding  between  the  wave- 
like  hills  that  rose  and  fell  on  every  side  of  the  horizon, 
with  a  long,  illimitable,  sinuous  look,  as  if  they  were 
a  part  of  the  line  of  the  Great  Serpent  which  the  Norse 
legend  says  girdles  the  world.  The  day  was  lead- 
coloured  ;  the  road  had  stone  factories  alongside  of  it ; 
grey,  dull-coloured  rows  of  stone  cottages  belonging  to 
these  factories  ;  and  then  we  came  to  poor,  hungry- 
looking  fields — stone  fences  everywhere,  and  trees  no- 
where. Haworth  is  a  long,  straggling  village :  one 
steep  narrow  street — so  steep  that  the  flagstones  with 
which  it  is  paved  are  placed  endways,  that  the  horses' 
feet  may  have  something  to  cling  to,  and  not  slip  down 
backwards,  which  if  they  did  they  would  soon  reach 
Keighley.  But  if  the  horses  had  cats'  feet  and  claws 
they  would  do  all  the  better.  Well,  we  (the  man,  horse, 
car,  and  I)  clambered  up  this  street,  and  reached  the 
church  dedicated  to  St.  Autest  (who  was  he  ?) ;  then 
we  turned  off  into  a  lane  on  the  left,  past  the  curate's 
lodging  at  the  sexton's,  past  the  schoolhouse,  up  to  the 
Parsonage  yard-door.  I  went  round  the  house  to  the 
front  door,  looking  to  the  church  ; — moors  everywhere, 
beyond  and  above.  The  crowded  graveyard  surrounds 


LIFE    AT    HAWORTH  361 

the    house    and     small     grass     enclosure    for     drying 
clothes. 

I  don't  know  that  I  ever  saw  a  spot  more  exquisitely 
clean  ;  the  most  dainty  place  for  that  I  ever  saw.  To 
be  sure  the  life  is  like  clockwork.  No  one  comes  to  the 
house  ;  nothing  disturbs  the  deep  repose  ;  hardly  a 
voice  is  heard  ;  you  catch  the  ticking  of  the  clock  in 
the  kitchen,  or  the  buzzing  of  a  fly  in  the  parlour,  all 
over  the  house.  Miss  Bronte  sits  alone  in  her  parlour, 
breakfasting  with  her  father  in  his  study  at  nine  o'clock. 
She  helps  in  the  housework  ;  for  one  of  their  servants 
(Tabby)  is  nearly  ninety,  and  the  other  only  a  girl.  Then 
I  accompanied  her  in  her  walks  on  the  sweeping  moors  : 
the  heather  bloom  had  been  blighted  by  a  thunderstorm 
a  day  or  two  before,  and  was  all  of  a  livid  brown  colour, 
instead  of  the  blaze  of  purple  glory  it  ought  to  have 
been.  Oh  !  those  high,  wild,  desolate  moors,  up  above 
the  whole  world,  and  the  very  realms  of  silence  !  Home 
to  dinner  at  two.  Mr.  Bronte  has  his  dinner  sent  into  . 
him.  All  the  small  table  arrangements  had  the  same 
dainty  simplicity  about  them.  Then  we  rested,  and 
talked  over  the  clear,  bright  fire;  it  is  a  cold  country, 
and  the  fires  gave  a  pretty  warm,  dancing  light  all  over 
the  house.  The  parlour  has  been  evidently  refurnished 
within  the  last  few  years,  since  Miss  Bronte's  success  has 
enabled  her  to  have  a  little  more  money  to  spend. 
Everything  fits  into,  and  is  in  harmony  with,  the  idea 
of  a  country  parsonage,  possessed  by  people  of  very 
moderate  means.  The  prevailing  colour  of  the  room  is 
crimson,  to  make  a  warm  setting  for  the  cold  grey  land- 
scape without.  There  is  her  likeness  by  Richmond,  and 
an  engraving  from  Lawrence's  picture  of  Thackeray  ; 
and  two  recesses,  on  each  side  of  the  high,  narrow,  old- 


362        ELIZABETH  CLEGHORN   GASKELL 

fashioned  mantelpiece,  filled  with  books — books  given 
to  her,  books  she  has  bought,  and  which  tell  of  her 
individual  pursuits  and  tastes  ;  not  standard  books. 

She  cannot  see  well,  and  does  little  beside  knitting. 
The  way  she  weakened  her  eyesight  was  this  :  When 
she  was  sixteen  or  seventeen,  she  wanted  much  to  draw  ; 
and  she  copied  niminipimini  copper-plate  engravings 
out  of  annuals  ("  stippling,"  don't  the  artists  call  it  ?), 
every  little  point  put  in,  till  at  the  end  of  six  months 
she  had  produced  an  exquisitely  faithful  copy  of  the 
engraving.  She  wanted  to  learn  to  express  her  ideas 
by  drawing.  After  she  had  tried  to  draw  stories,  and 
not  succeeded,  she  took  the  better  mode  of  writing, 
but  in  so  small  a  hand  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
decipher  what  she  wrote  at  this  time. 

But  now  to  return  to  our  quiet  hour  of  rest  after 
dinner.  I  soon  observed  that  her  habits  of  order  were 
such  that  she  could  not  go  on  with  the  conversation  if 
a  chair  was  out  of  its  place  ;  everything  was  arranged 
with  delicate  regularity.  We  talked  over  the  old  times 
of  her  childhood  ;  of  her  elder  sister's  (Maria's)  death — 
just  like  that  of  Helen  Burns  in  "  Jane  Eyre  " — of  the 
desire  (almost  amounting  to  illness)  of  expressing  herself  in 
some  way,  writing  or  drawing  ;  of  her  weakened  eyesight, 
which  prevented  her  doing  anything  for  two  years,  from 
the  age  of  seventeen  to  nineteen  ;  of  her  being  a 
governess ;  of  her  going  to  Brussels  ;  whereupon  I 
said  I  disliked  Lucy  Snowe,  and  we  discussed  M.  Paul 

Emanuel ;  and  I  told  her  of  's  admiration  of 

"  Shirley,"  which  pleased  her,  for  the  character  of  Shirley 
was  meant  for  her  sister  Emily,  about  whom  she  is  never 
tired  of  talking,  nor  I  of  listening.  Emily  must  have 
been  a  remnant  of  the  Titans,  great-granddaughter  of 


EMILY    BRONTE'S    DOG  363 

the  giants  who  used  to  inhabit  the  earth.  One  day  Miss 
Bronte  brought  down  a  rough,  common-looking  oil 
painting,  done  by  her  brother,  of  herself — a  little,  rather 
prim-looking  girl  of  eighteen — and  two  other  sisters, 
girls  of  sixteen  and  fourteen,  with  cropped  hair,  and  sad, 
dreamy-looking  eyes.  .  .  .  Emily  had  a  great  dog — 
half  mastiff,  half  bulldog — so  savage,  etc.  .  .  .  This 
dog  went  to  her  funeral,  walking  side  by  side  with  her 
father  ;  and  then,  to  the  day  of  its  death,  it  slept  at  her 
room  door,  snuffing  under  it,  and  whining  every  morning. 
We  have  generally  had  another  walk  before  tea,  which 
is  at  six  ;  at  half -past  eight  prayers  ;  and  by  nine  all 
the  household  are  in  bed,  except  ourselves.  We  sit 
up  together  till  ten,  or  past ;  and  after  I  go  I  hear  Miss 
Bronte  come  down  and  walk  up  and  down  the  room 
for  an  hour  or  so. 

E.  C.  GASKELL. 


LUCIE,  LADY  DUFF-GORDON  (1821-1869) 

WAS  the  only  child  of  John  Austin  and  of  Sarah  Austin. 
She  married  in  1840  Sir  Alexander  Duff -Gordon ;  and 
occupied  herself  by  translating  from  the  French  and  German. 
Her  health  failing,  she  visited  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  in  1861-2 ; 
and  she  afterwards  went  to  Egypt,  where  she  died  at  Cairo. 
Her  letters  from  the  Cape  and  from  Egypt  were  afterwards 
published,  some  of  them  during  her  lifetime. 


AN    EASTERN    CEREMONY 

Friday,  January  22  [1864]. 

Yesterday  I  rode   over  to   Karnac    with  Mustafa's 
Sais  running  by  my  side  ;   glorious  hot  sun  and  delicious 


364  LADY    DUFF-GORDON 

air.  To  hear  the  Sais  chatter  away,  his  tongue  running 
as  fast  as  his  feet,  made  me  deeply  envious  of  his  lungs. 
Mustafa  joined  me,  and  pressed  me  to  go  to  visit  the 
Sheykh's  tomb  for  the  benefit  of  my  health,  as  he  and 
Sheykh  Yoosuf  wished  to  say  a  Fat'hah  for  me  ;  but 
I  must  not  drink  wine  that  day.  I  made  a  little  diffi- 
culty on  the  score  of  difference  of  religion,  but  Sheykh 
Yoosuf,  who  came  up,  said  he  presumed  I  worshipped 
God  and  not  stones,  and  that  sincere  prayers  were  good 
anywhere.  Clearly  the  bigotry  would  have  been  on  my 
side  if  I  had  refused  any  longer,  so  in  the  evening  I  went 
with  Mustafa. 

It  was  a  very  curious  sight :  the  little  dome  illu- 
minated with  as  much  oil  as  the  mosque  could  afford, 
over  the  tombs  of  Abu-1-Hajjaj  and  his  three  sons.  A 
magnificent  old  man,  like  Father  Abraham  himself, 
dressed  in  white  sat  on  a  carpet  at  the  foot  of  the  tomb  ; 
he  was  the  head  of  the  family  of  Abu-1-Hajjaj.  He 
made  me  sit  by  him  and  was  extremely  polite.  Then 
came  the  Nazir,  the  Hadee,  a  Turk  travelling  on  govern- 
ment business,  and  a  few  other  gentlemen,  who  all  sat 
down  after  us,  after  kissing  the  hand  of  the  old  Sheykh. 
Every  one  talked  ;  in  fact,  it  was  a  soiree  in  honour  of 
the  dead  sheykh.  A  party  of  men  sat  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  place,  with  their  faces  to  the  kibleh,  and 
played  on  a  darabukheh  (sort  of  small  drum  stretched 
over  an  earthenware  funnel,  which  gives  a  peculiar 
sound),  a  tambourine  without  bells,  and  little  tinkling 
cymbals  (seggal)  fitting  on  thumb  and  finger  (crotales), 
and  chanted  songs  in  honour  of  Mohammad,  and  verses 
from  the  Psalms  of  David.  Every  now  and  then,  one 
of  our  party  left  off  talking,  or  prayed  a  little  and 
counted  his  beads.  The  old  sheykh  sent  for  coffee  and 


EASTERN    MUSIC  365 

gave  me  the  first  cup — a  wonderful  concession  ;  at 
last  the  Nazir  proposed  a  Fat'hah  for  me,  which  the 
whole  group  around  me  repeated  aloud,  and  then  each 
said  to  me  :  ' '  Our  Lord  God  bless  thee,  and  give  thee 
health  and  peace,  to  thee  and  thy  family,  and  take  thee 
back  safe  to  thy  master  and  thy  children  "  ;  every  one 
adding  "  Ameen  "  and  giving  the  salam  with  the  hand. 
I  returned  it,  and  said,  "  Our  Lord  reward  thee  and  all 
people  of  kindness  to  strangers,"  which  was  considered 
a  very  proper  answer. 

After  that  we  went  away  and  the  worthy  Nazir 
walked  home  with  me  to  take  a  pipe  and  a  glass  of 
sherbert  and  eight  children,  who  are  all  in  Fum-el-Bahr, 
except  two  boys  at  school  in  Cairo.  ...  I  ought  to  add 
that  in  Cairo,  or  Lower  Egypt,  it  would  be  quite  im- 
possible for  a  Christian  to  enter  a  sheykh's  tomb  at  all 
— above  all  on  his  birthday  festival,  and  on  the  night 
of  Friday. 


Lady  Duff-Gordon  to  

ON    ILLUSTRATING 

March  7,  1864. 

We  have  now  settled  into  quite  warm  weather  ways ; 
no  more  going  out  at  midday.  It  is  now  broiling,  and 
I  have  been  watching  eight  tall  blacks  swimming  and 
capering  about,  with  their  skins  shining  like  otters'  fur 
when  wet.  They  belong  to  a  Gellab,  a  slave-dealer's 
boat,  I  see.  The  beautiful  thing  is  to  see  men  and  boys 
at  work  among  the  green  corn.  In  the  sun  their  brown 
skins  look  like  dark  clouded  amber — semi-transparent, 
so  fine  are  they. 


366  LADY    DUFF-GORDON 

I  have  a  friend,  a  farmer  in  a  neighbouring  village, 
and  am  much  amused  at  seeing  country  life.  It  cannot 
be  rougher,  as  regards  material  comforts,  in  New 
Zealand  or  Central  Africa,  but  there  is  no  barbarism 
or  lack  of  refinement  in  the  manners  of  the  people. 

The  fine  sun  and  clear  air  are  delicious  and  reviving, 
and  I  mount  my  donkey  early  and  late,  with  little  Ahmad 
trotting  beside  me.  In  the  evening  comes  my  dear 
Sheykh  Yoosuf,  and  I  blunder  through  an  hour's  dicta- 
tion and  reading  of  the  story  of  the  Barber's  fifth 
brother.  I  presume  that  Yoosuf  likes  me,  for  I  am 
constantly  greeted  with  immense  cordiality  by  graceful 
men  in  green  turbans  belonging,  like  him,  to  the  holy 
family  of  Sheykh  Abu-1-Hajjaj.  They  inquire  tenderly 
after  my  health,  and  pray  for  me,  and  hope  I  am  going 
to  stay  among  them. 

I  received  an  Illustrated  News  with  a  print  of  a 
ridiculous  Rebekah  at  the  well,  from  a  picture  by 
Hilton.  With  regard  to  Eastern  subjects,  two  courses 
are  open  :  to  paint  like  mediaeval  painters,  white  people 
in  European  clothes,  or  to  come  and  see.  Mawkish 
Misses,  in  fancy  dresses,  are  not  "  benat-el-Arab,"  like 
Rebekah  ;  nor  would  a  respectable  man  go  on  his 
knees  like  an  old  fool  before  the  girl  he  was  asking  in 
marriage  for  the  son  of  his  master. 

Of  all  comical  things,  though,  Victor  Hugo's  "Orient- 
ales"  is  the  funnest.  Elephants  at  Smyrna  !  Why  not 
at  Paris  and  London  ?  Quelle  couleur  locale  ?  Sheykh 
Yoosuf  had  a  good  laugh  over  Hilton's  Rebekah,  and 
the  camels,  more  like  pigs,  as  to  their  heads.  He  said 
we  must  have  strange  ideas  of  the  books  of  Tourat  (the 
Pentateuch)  in  Europe. 

I  rejoice  to  say  that  next  Wednesday  is  Bairam,  and 


HILTON'S    REBEKAH  367 

to-morrow  Ramadan  "  dies."  Omar  is  very  thin  and 
yellow  and  headachy,  and  every  one  cross.  How  I  wish 
I  were  going,  instead  of  my  letter,  to  see  you  all ;  but 
it  is  evident  that  this  heat  is  the  thing  that  does  me 
good,  if  anything  will. 


Lady  Duff-Gordon  to 


ENGLISH    LADIES 

EL-UKSUR,  March  22,  1864. 

I  am  glad  my  letters  amuse  you.  Sometimes  I  think 
they  must  breathe  the  unutterable  dullness  of  Eastern 
life — not  that  it  is  dull  to  me,  a  curious  spectator,  but 
how  the  men  with  nothing  on  earth  to  do  can  endure  it 
is  a  wonder.  I  went  yesterday  evening  to  call  on  a 
Turk  at  El-Karnak  ;  he  is  a  gentlemanlike  man,  the 
son  of  a  former  mudeer  who  was  murdered — I  believe, 
for  his  cruelty  and  extortion.  He  has  a  thousand 
feddans  (acres,  or  a  little  more)  of  land,  and  lives  in  a 
mud  house,  larger,  but  no  better  than  that  of  a  Fellah, 
and  with  two  wives,  and  the  brother  of  one  of  them  ; 
he  leaves  the  farm  to  his  Fellaheen  altogether,  I  fancy. 
There  was  one  book,  a  Turkish  one  ;  I  could  not  read 
the  title-page,  and  he  did  not  tell  me  what  it  was.  In 
short,  there  were  no  means  of  killing  time,  but  the 
nargheeleh  ;  no  horse,  no  gun — nothing  ;  and  yet  they 
don't  seem  bored.  The  two  women  are  always 
clamorous  for  my  visits,  and  very  noisy  and  school- 
girlish,  but  apparently  excellent  friends,  and  very  good 
natured.  The  gentleman  gave  me  a  kuffeeysh  (thick 
headkerchief  for  the  sun),  so  I  took  the  ladies  a  bit  of 


368  LADY    DUFF-GORDON 

silk  I  happened  to  have.  You  never  heard  anything 
like  his  raptures  over  M.'s  portrait.  "  Masha — allah  ! 
it  is  the  will  of  God  !  and,  by  God,  he  is  like  a  rose." 
But  I  can't  take  to  the  Turks  ;  I  always  feel  that  they 
secretly  dislike  and  think  ill  of  us  European  women, 
though  they  profess  huge  admiration  and  pay  personal 
compliments,  which  an  Arab  very  seldom  attempts. 

I  heard  Seleem  Efendi  and  Omar  discussing  English 
ladies  one  day  lately,  while  I  was  inside  the  curtain  with 
Seleem's  slave-girl,  and  they  did  not  know  I  heard  them. 

Omar  described  J ,  and  was  of  opinion  that  a  man 

who  was  married  to  her  could  want  nothing  more. 
"  By  my  soul,  she  rides  like  a  Bedawee,  she  shoots  with 
the  gun  and  pistol,  rows  the  boat ;  she  knows  many 
languages  and  what  is  in  their  books  ;  works  with  the 
needle  like  an  Efireet,  and  to  see  her  hands  run  over 
the  teeth  of  the  music-box  (keys  of  the  piano)  amazed 
the  mind,  while  her  singing  gladdens  the  soul.  How, 
then,  should  her  husband  ever  desire  the  coffee-shop  ! 
Wallahee  !  she  can  always  amuse  him  at  home.  And 
as  to  my  lady,  the  thing  is  not  that  she  does  not  know. 
When  I  feel  my  stomach  tightened,  I  go  to  the  divan  and 
say  to  her,  '  Do  you  want  anything — a  pipe  or  sherbert 
or  so  and  so  ?  and  I  talk  till  she  lays  down  her  book  and 
talks  to  me  and  I  question  her  and  amuse  my  mind  ; 
and,  by  God  !  if  I  were  a  rich  man  and  could  carry  one 
English  hareem  like  these,  I  would  stand  before  her  and 
serve  her  like  her  memlook.  You  see  I  am  only  this 
lady's  servant,  and  I  have  not  once  sat  in  the  coffee-shop, 
because  of  the  sweetness  of  her  tongue.  Is  it  not  true, 
therefore,  that  the  man  who  can  marry  such  hareem 
is  rich  more  than  with  money  ?  " 

Seleem  seemed   disposed  to  think  a  little  more  of 


AN    EASTERN    CONVERSATION  369 

good  looks,   though  he  quite   agreed   with   all  Omar's 

enthusiasm,  and  asked  if  J were  beautiful.     Omar 

answered,  with  decorous  vagueness,  that  she  was  "a 
moon/'  but  declined  mentioning  her  hair,  eyes,  etc.  (It 
is  a  liberty  to  describe  a  woman  minutely.)  I  nearly 
laughed  out  at  hearing  Omar  relate  his  manoeuvres  to 
make  me  "  amuse  his  mind."  It  seems  I  am  in  no 
danger  of  being  discharged  for  being  dull.  On  the  other 
hand,  frenchified  Turks  have  the  greatest  detestation  of 
femmts  d'esprit. 

The  weather  has  set  in  so  hot  that  I  have  shifted  my 
quarters  out  of  my  fine  room  to  the  south-west,  into  a 
room  with  only  three  sides,  looking  over  a  lovely  green 
view  to  the  north-east,  and  with  a  huge  sort  of  solid 
verandah,  as  large  as  the  room  itself,  on  the  open  side — 
thus  I  live  in  the  open  air  altogether.  The  bats  and 
swallows  are  quite  sociable  ;  I  hope  the  serpents  and 
scorpions  will  be  more  reserved.  "  Ell-Khamaseen  " 
(the  fifty  days)  has  begun,  and  the  wind  is  enough  to 
mix  up  heaven  and  earth,  but  it  is  not  distressing,  like 
the  Cape  south-easter,  and  though  hot,  not  choking 
like  the  khamaseen  in  Cairo  and  Alexandria.  Moham- 
mad brought  me  some  of  the  new  wheat  just  now. 
Think  of  harvest  in  March  and  April !  These  winds  are 
as  good  for  the  crops  here  as  a  "  nice  steady  rain  "  is  in 
England.  It  is  not  necessary  to  water  as  much  when 
the  wind  blows  strong. 

As  I  rode  through  the  green  fields  along  on  the  dyke 
a  little  boy  sang,  as  he  turned  round  on  the  musically 
creaking  Sakiyeh  (the  water-wheel  turned  by  an  ox), 
the  one  eternal  Sakiyeh  tune.  The  words  are  ad  libitum, 
and  my  little  friend  chanted  :  "Turn,  O  Sakiyeh,  to  the 
right,  and  turn  to  the  left,  who  will  take  care  of  me  if 

24 


3/0  LADY   DUFF-GORDON 

my  father  dies  ?  Turn,  O  Sakiyeh,  etc.  Pour  water 
for  the  figs  and  the  grapes,  and  for  the  water-melons. 
Turn/'  etc.,  etc.  Nothing  is  so  pathetic  as  that  Sakiyeh 
song. 

I  passed  the  house  of  the  Shaykh-el-Abab-deh,  who 
called  out  to  me  to  take  coffee.  The  moon  rose  splendid, 
and  the  scene  was  lovely  ;  the  handsome  black-brown 
sheykh  in  dark  robes  and  white  turban,  Omar  in  a  graceful 
white  gown  and  red  turban,  the  wild  Abab-deh  with 
their  bare  heads  and  long  black  ringlets,  clad  in  all 
manner  of  dingy  white  rags,  and  bearing  every  kind  of 
uncouth  weapon  in  every  kind  of  wild  and  graceful 
attitude,  and  a  few  little  brown  children  quite  naked, 
and  shaped  like  Cupids.  And  there  we  sat  and  looked  so 
romantic,  and  talked  quite  like  ladies  and  gentlemen 
about  the  merits  of  Sakneh  and  Almas,  the  two  great 
rival  women  singers  of  Cairo.  I  think  the  Sheykh  wished 
to  display  his  experience  of  fashionable  life. 


CHARLOTTE  BRONTE  (1816-1855) 

WAS  born  at  Thornton,  Yorkshire,  a  daughter  of  Patrick 
Bronte,  a  clergyman  of  Irish  descent.  In  1821  Mr.  Bronte 
became  curate  at  Haworth,  to  which  village  he  moved,  and 
where  Charlotte's  life  was  passed,  except  for  her  school  days 
and  for  the  period  of  two  years  when  she  studied  at  Brussels. 
Every  one  is  familiar  with  the  story  of  Charlotte,  Emily, 
and  Anne  Bronte,  as  told  by  Mrs.  Gaskell  in  her  biography 
of  the  three  sisters.  It  is  sufficient,  therefore,  to  state  that 
Charlotte's  first  story,  "  The  Professor  "  (which  was  rejected), 
was  followed  in  1847  by  "  Jane  Eyre,"  "  Shirley,"  1849, 
and  "  Villette,"  1852.  She  married  Mr.  Nicholls,  her  father's 
curate,  in  1854,  and  died  at  Haworth  on  March  31,  1855. 


CHARLOTTE    BRONTE 

From  an  engraving  by  J.  C.  Armytage, 
after  /he  drawing  by  G.  Richmond,  R.A. 


P.  370] 


CHARLOTTE    BRONTE    AND     SOUTHEY  371 

To  Robert  Southey 

THE    POET'S    WARNING 

March  16,  1837. 

SIR, — I  cannot  rest  till  I  have  answered  your  letter, 
even  though  by  addressing  you  a  second  time  I  should 
appear  a  little  intrusive  ;  but  I  must  thank  you  for  the 
kind  and  wise  advice  you  have  condescended  to  give 
me.  I  had  not  ventured  to  hope  for  such  a  reply  ;  so 
considerate  in  its  tone,  so  noble  in  its  spirit.  I  must 
suppress  what  I  feel,  or  you  will  think  me  foolishly 
enthusiastic. 

At  the  first  perusal  of  your  letter  I  felt  only  shame 
and  regret  that  I  had  ever  ventured  to  trouble  you  with 
my  crude  rhapsody ;  I  felt  a  painful  heat  rise  to  my 
face  when  I  thought  of  the  quires  of  paper  I  had  covered 
with  what  once  gave  me  so  much  delight,  but  which 
now  was  only  a  source  of  confusion  ;  but  after  I  had 
thought  a  little,  and  read  it  again  and  again,  the  prospect 
seemed  to  clear.  You  do  not  forbid  me  to  write  ;  you 
do  not  say  that  what  I  write  is  utterly  destitute  of  merit. 
You  only  warn  me  against  the  folly  of  neglecting  real 
duties  for  the  sake  of  imaginative  pleasures  ;  of  writing 
for  the  love  of  fame  ;  for  the  selfish  excitement  of 
emulation.  You  kindly  allow  me  to  write  poetry  for 
its  own  sake,  provided  I  leave  undone  nothing  which 
I  ought  to  do,  in  order  to  pursue  that  single,  absorbing, 
exquisite  gratification.  I  am  afraid,  sir,  you  think  me 
very  foolish.  I  know  the  first  letter  I  wrote  to  you  was 
all  senseless  trash  from  beginning  to  end  ;  but  I  am 
not  altogether  the  idle,  dreaming  being  it  would  seem 
to  denote.  My  father  is  a  clergyman  of  limited  though 
competent  income,  and  I  am  the  eldest  of  his  children. 


372  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

He  expended  quite  as  much  on  my  education  as  he 
could  afford  in  justice  to  the  rest.  I  thought  it  therefore 
my  duty,  when  I  left  school,  to  become  a  governess. 
In  that  capacity  I  find  enough  to  occupy  my  thoughts 
all  day  long,  and  my  head  and  hands  too,  without  having 
a  moment's  time  for  one  dream  of  the  imagination. 
In  the  evenings,  I  confess,  I  do  think,  but  I  never  trouble 
any  one  else  with  my  thoughts.  I  carefully  avoid  any 
appearance  of  preoccupation  and  eccentricity,  which 
might  lead  those  I  live  amongst  to  suspect  the  nature 
of  my  pursuits.  Following  my  father's  advice — who 
from  my  childhood  has  counselled  me,  just  in  the  wise 
and  friendly  tone  of  your  letter — I  have  endeavoured 
not  only  attentively  to  observe  all  the  duties  a  woman 
ought  to  fulfil,  but  to  feel  deeply  interested  in  them. 
I  don't  always  succeed,  for  sometimes  when  I'm  teaching 
or  sewing  I  would  rather  be  reading  or  writing  ;  but  I 
try  to  deny  myself ;  and  my  father's  approbation 
amply  rewarded  me  for  the  privation.  Once  more 
allow  me  to  thank  you  with  sincere  gratitude.  I  trust 
I  shall  never  more  feel  ambitious  to  see  my  name  in 
print ;  if  the  wish  should  rise,  I'll  look  at  Southey's 
letter  and  suppress  it.  It  is  honour  enough  for  me  that 
I  have  written  to  him,  and  received  an  answer.  That 
letter  is  consecrated  ;  no  one  shall  ever  see  it  but  papa 
and  my  brother  and  sisters.  Again  I  thank  you.  This 
incident,  I  suppose,  will  be  renewed  no  more  ;  if  I  live 
to  be  an  old  woman,  I  shall  remember  it  thirty  years 
hence  as  a  bright  dream.  The  signature  which  you 
suspected  of  being  fictitious  is  my  real  name.  Again, 
therefore  I  must  sign  myself, 

C.  BRONTE. 
P.S. — Pray,  sir,  excuse  me  for  writing  to  you  a  second 


LOVE    AND    MARRIAGE  373 

time  ;  I  could  not  help  writing,  partly  to  tell  you  how 
thankful  I  am  for  your  kindness,  and  partly  to  let  you 
know  that  your  advice  shall  not  be  wasted,  however 
sorrowfully  and  reluctantly  it  may  at  first  be  followed. 

C.  B. 

Charlotte  Bronte  to  a  Friend 

(ON    HER   FIRST    OFFER    OF   MARRIAGE) 

March  12,   1839. 

...  I  had  a  kindly  leaning  towards  him,  because 
he  is  an  amiable  and  well-disposed  man.  Yet  I  had 
not,  and  could  not  have,  that  intense  attachment  which 
would  make  me  willing  to  die  for  him  ;  and  if  ever  I 
marry  it  must  be  in  that  light  adoration  that  I  will 
regard  my  husband.  Ten  to  one  I  shall  never  have 
the  chance  again ;  but  n'importe.  Moreover,  I  was 
aware  that  he  knew  so  little  of  me  he  could  hardly  be 
conscious  to  whom  he  was  writing.  Why  !  it  would 
startle  him  to  see  me  in  my  natural  home  character  ; 
he  would  think  I  was  a  wild,  romantic  enthusiast  indeed. 
I  could  not  sit  all  day  long  making  a  grave  face  before 
my  husband.  I  would  laugh,  and  satirise,  and  say 
whatever  came  into  my  head  first.  And  if  he  were  a 
clever  man,  and  loved  me,  the  whole  world,  weighed  in 
the  balance  against  his  smallest  wish,  should  be  light 


Charlotte  Bronte  to  George  Smith 

" ESMOND  " 

November  10,  1852. 

MY    DEAR   SIR, — I    only  wished    the    publication    of 
"  Shirley  "  to  be  delayed  till  " Villette"  was  nearly  ready; 


374  CHARLOTTE   BRONTE 

so  that  there  can  now  be  no  objection  to  its  being  issued 
whenever  you  think  fit.  After  putting  the  MS.  into 
type  I  can  only  say  that,  should  I  be  able  to  proceed 
with  the  third  volume  at  my  average  amount  of  inter 
ruptions,  I  should  hope  to  have  it  ready  in  about  three 
weeks.  I  leave  it  to  you  to  decide  whether  it  would 
be  better  to  delay  the  printing  that  space  of  time,  or  to 
commence  it  immediately.  It  would  certainly  be  more 
satisfactory  if  you  were  to  see  the  third  volume  before 
printing  the  first  and  second  ;  yet,  if  delay  is  likely  to 
prove  injurious,  I  do  not  think  it  is  indispensable. 

I  have  read  the  third  volume  of  "  Esmond."  I  found 
it  both  entertaining  and  exciting  to  me  ;  it  seems  to 
possess  an  impetus  and  excitement  beyond  the  other 
two  ;  that  movement  and  brilliancy  its  predecessors 
sometimes  wanted  never  fail  here.  In  certain  passages 
I  thought  Thackeray  used  all  his  powers  ;  their  grand, 
serious  force  yielded  a  profound  satisfaction.  "  At 
last  he  puts  forth  his  strength,"  I  could  not  help  saying 
to  myself.  No  character  in  the  book  strikes  me  as 
more  masterly  than  that  of  Beatrix  ;  its  conception 
is  fresh,  and  its  delineations  vivid.  It  is  peculiar  ;  it 
has  impressions  of  a  new  kind — new  at  least  to  me. 
Beatrix  is  not,  in  herself,  all  bad.  So  much  does  she 
sometimes  reveal  of  what  is  good  and  great  as  to  suggest 
this  feeling  ;  you  would  think  she  was  urged  by  a  Fate. 
You  would  think  that  some  antique  doom  presses  on 
her  house,  and  that  once  in  so  many  generations  its 
brightest  ornament  was  to  become  its  greatest  disgrace. 
At  times  what  is  good  in  her  struggles  against  this 
terrible  destiny,  but  the  Fate  conquers.  Beatrix  cannot 
be  an  honest  woman  and  a  good  man's  wife.  She  "  tries 
and  she  cannot."  Proud,  beautiful,  and  sullied,  she  was 


"  ESMOND  "    AND    THE    CRITICS          375 

born  what  she  becomes,  a  king's  mistress.  I  know 
not  whether  you  have  seen  the  notice  in  The  Leader ; 
I  read  it  just  after  concluding  the  book.  Can  I  be 
wrong  in  deeming  it  a  notice  tame,  cold,  and  insufficient  ? 
With  all  its  professed  friendliness,  it  produced  on  me  a 
most  disheartening  impression.  Surely  another  sort  of 
justice  than  this  will  be  rendered  to  "  Esmond  "  from 
other  quarters.  One  acute  remark  of  the  critic  is  to 
the  effect  that  Blanche  Amory  and  Beatrix  are  identical 
— sketched  from  the  same  original  !  To  me  they  are 
about  as  identical  as  a  weazel  and  a  royal  tigress  of 
Bengal ;  both  the  latter  are  quadrupeds,  both  the 
former  women.  But  I  must  not  take  up  either  your 
time  or  my  own  with  further  remarks. 

Believe  me  yours  sincerely, 

C.  BRONTE. 

Charlotte  Bronte  to  Mary  Taylor1 

A    VISIT   TO  HER   PUBLISHER 

HAWORTH,  September  4,   1848. 

DEAR  POLLY, — I  write  you  a  great  many  more  letters 
than  you  write  me,  though  whether  they  all  reach  you, 
or  not,  Heaven  knows  !  I  dare  say  you  will  not  be 
without  a  certain  desire  to  know  how  our  affairs  get  on  ; 
I  will  give  you  therefore  a  notion  as  briefly  as  may  be. 
Acton  Bell  has  published  another  book  ;  it  is  in  three 
volumes,  but  I  do  not  like  it  quite  so  well  as  "Agnes  Grey" 
— the  subject  not  being  such  as  the  author  had  pleasure 
in  handling  ;  it  has  been  praised  by  some  reviews  and 
blamed  by  others.  As  yet,  only  £25  have  been  realised 

1  This  letter  is  printed  by  the  kind  permission  of  Mr.  Clement 
Shorter,  from  his  most  interesting  and  valuable  work  entitled 
"  The  Brontes  :  Life  and  Work." 


376  CHARLOTTE   BRONTE 

for  the  copyright,  and  as  Acton  Bell's  publisher  is  a 
shuffling  scamp,  I  expected  no  more. 

About  two  months  since  I  had  a  letter  from  my  pub- 
lishers— Smith  and  Elder — saying  that  "  Jane  Eyre  "  had 
had  a  great  run  in  America,  and  that  a  publisher  there  had 
consequently  bid  high  for  the  first  sheets  of  a  new  work 
by  Currer  Bell,  which  they  had  promised  to  let  him  have. 

Presently  after  came  another  missive  from  Smith 
and  Elder  ;  their  American  correspondent  had  written 
to  them  complaining  that  the  first  sheets  of  a  new  work 
by  Currer  Bell  had  been  already  received,  and  not  by 
their  house,  but  by  a  rival  publisher,  and  asking  the 
meaning  of  such  false  play  ;  it  enclosed  an  extract  from 
a  letter  from  Mr.  Newby  (A.  and  C.  Bell's  publisher) 
affirming  that  to  the  best  of  his  belief  "  Jane  Eyre," 
"Wuthering  Heights,"  and  "Agnes  Grey,"  and  "The 
Tenant  of  Wildfell  Hall  "  (the  new  work)  were  all  the 
production  of  one  author. 

This  was  a  He,  as  Newby  had  been  told  repeatedly 
that  they  were  the  production  of  three  different  authors ; 
but  the  fact  was  he  wanted  to  make  a  dishonest  move  in 
the  game  to  make  the  public  and  the  trade  believe  that 
he  had  got  hold  of  Currer  Bell,  and  thus  cheat  Smith 
and  Elder  by  securing  the  American  publisher's  bid. 

The  upshot  of  it  was  that  on  the  very  day  I  received 
Smith  and  Elder's  letter,  Anne  and  I  packed  up  a 
small  box,  sent  it  down  to  Keighley,  set  out  ourselves 
after  tea,  walked  through  a  snowstorm  to  the  station, 
got  to  Leeds,  and  whirled  up  by  the  night  train  to 
London  with  the  view  of  proving  our  separate  identity 
to  Smith  and  Elder,  and  confronting  Newby  with  his  lie. 

We  arrived  at  the  Chapter  Coffee-House  (our  old 
place,  Polly :  we  did  not  well  know  where  else  to  go) 


CURRER    AND    ACTON    BELL  377 

about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  We  washed  our- 
selves, had  some  breakfast,  sat  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
set  off  in  queer  inward  excitement  to  65,  Cornhill. 
Neither  Mr.  Smith  nor  Mr.  Williams  knew  we  were 
coming — they  had  never  seen  us — they  did  not  know 
whether  we  were  men  or  women,  but  had  always  written 
to  us  as  men. 

We  found  65  to  be  a  large  bookseller's  shop,  in  a  street 
almost  as  bustling  as  the  Strand.  We  went  in,  walked 
up  to  the  counter.  There  were  a  great  many  young 
men  and  lads  here  and  there  ;  I  said  to  the  first  I  could 
accost:  "May  I  see  Mr.  Smith?"  He  hesitated, 
looked  a  little  surprised.  We  sat  down  and  waited  a 
while,  looking  at  some  books  on  the  counter,  publications 
of  theirs  well  known  to  us,  of  many  of  which  they  had 
sent  us  copies  as  presents.  At  last  we  were  shown  up 
to  Mr.  Smith.  "Is  it  Mr.  Smith  ?  "  I  said,  looking 
up  through  my  spectacles  at  a  tall  young  man.  "  It  is." 
I  then  put  his  own  letter  into  his  hand  directed  to  Currer 
Bell.  He  looked  at  it  and  then  at  me  again.  "  Where 
did  you  get  this  ?  "  he  said.  I  laughed  at  his  perplexity 
— a  recognition  took  place.  I  gave  my  real  name  : 
Miss  Bronte.  We  were  in  a  small  room — ceiled  with 
a  great  skylight — and  there  explanations  were  rapidly 
gone  into  ;  Mr.  Newby  being  anathematised,  I  fear, 
with  undue  vehemence.  Mr.  Smith  hurried  out  and 
returned  quickly  with  one  whom  he  introduced  as  Mr. 
Williams,  a  pale,  mild,  stooping  man  of  fifty,  very  much 
like  a  faded  Tom  Dixon.  Another  recognition  and  a  long, 
nervous  shaking  of  hands.  Then  followed  talk — talk — 
talk  ;  Mr.  Williams  being  silent,  Mr.  Smith  loquacious. 

Mr.  Smith  said  we  must  come  and  stay  at  his  house, 
but  we  were  not  prepared  for  a  long  stay,  and  declined 


378  CHARLOTTE   BRONTE 

this  also  ;  as  we  took  our  leave  he  told  us  he  should 
bring  his  sisters  to  call  on  us  that  evening.  We  returned 
to  our  inn,  and  I  paid  for  the  excitement  of  the  interview 
by  a  thundering  headache  and  harassing  sickness., 
Towards  evening,  as  I  got  no  better  and  expected  the 
Smiths  to  call,  I  took  a  strong  dose  of  sal-volatile.  It 
roused  me  a  little  ;  still,  I  was  in  grievous  bodily  case 
when  they  were  announced.  They  came  in,  two  elegant 
young  ladies,  in  full  dress,  prepared  for  the  Opera — Mr. 
Smith  himself  in  evening  costume,  white  gloves,  etc. 
We  had  by  no  means  understood  that  it  was  settled  we 
were  to  go  to  the  Opera,  and  were  not  ready.  Moreover, 
we  had  no  fine,  elegant  dresses  with  us,  or  in  the  world. 
However,  on  brief  rumination  I  thought  it  would  be 
wise  to  make  no  objections — I  put  my  headache  in  my 
pocket,  we  attired  ourselves  in  the  plain,  high-made 
country  garments  we  possessed,  and  went  with  them 
to  their  carriage,  where  we  found  Mr.  Williams.  They 
must  have  thought  us  queer,  quizzical-looking  beings, 
especially  me  with  my  spectacles.  I  smiled  inwardly 
at  the  contrast,  which  must  have  been  apparent,  between 
me  and  Mr.  Smith  as  I  walked  with  him  up  the  crimson- 
carpeted  staircase  of  the  Opera  House  and  stood  amongst 
a  brilliant  throng  at  the  box  door,  which  was  not  yet 
open.  Fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  glanced  at  us  with 
a  slight,  graceful  superciliousness  quite  warranted  by  the 
circumstances.  Still,  I  felt  pleasantly  excited  in  spite  of 
headache  and  sickness  and  conscious  clownishness,  and 
I  saw  Anne  was  calm  and  gentle,  which  she  always  is. 

The  performance  was  Rossini's  opera  of  the  Barber  of 
Seville,  very  brilliant,  though  I  fancy  there  are  things 
I  should  like  better.  We  got  home  after  one  o'clock  ; 
we  had  never  been  in  bed  the  night  before,  and  had  been 


THE    VISIT    TO    THE    OPERA  379 

in   constant   excitement   for   twenty-four   hours.     You 
may  imagine  we  were  tired. 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  Mr.  Williams  came  early  and 
took  us  to  church.  He  was  so  quiet,  but  so  sincere  in 
his  attentions,  one  could  not  but  have  a  most  friendly 
leaning  towards  him.  He  has  a  nervous  hesitation  in 
speech,  and  a  difficulty  in  finding  appropriate  language 
in  which  to  express  himself,  which  throws  him  into 
the  background  in  conversation  ;  but  I  had  been  his 
correspondent,  and  therefore  knew  with  what  intelligence 
he  could  write,  so  that  I  was  not  in  danger  of  under- 
valuing him.  In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Smith  came  in  his 
carriage  with  his  mother,  to  take  us  to  his  house  to  dine. 
Mr.  Smith's  residence  is  at  Bayswater,  six  miles  from 
Cornhill ;  the  rooms,  the  drawing-room  especially, 
looked  splendid  to  us.  There  was  no  company — only 
his  mother,  his  two  grown-up  sisters,  and  his  brother, 
a  lad  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  and  a  little  sister,  the  youngest 
of  the  family,  very  like  himself.  They  are  all  dark- 
eyed,  dark-haired,  and  have  clear,  pale  faces.  The 
mother  is  a  portly,  handsome  woman  of  her  age,  and  all 
the  children  more  or  less  well-looking — one  of  the 
daughters  decidedly  pretty.  We  had  a  fine  dinner, 
which  neither  Anne  nor  I  had  appetite  to  eat,  and  were 
glad  when  it  was  over.  I  always  feel  under  an  awkward 
constraint  at  table.  Dining-out  would  be  hideous  to  me. 

Mr.  Smith  made  himself  very  pleasant.  He  is  a 
practical  man.  I  wish  Mr.  Williams  were  more  so,  but 
he  is  altogether  of  the  contemplative,  theorising  order. 
Mr.  Williams  has  too  many  abstractions. 

On  Monday  we  went  to  the  Exhibition  of  the  Royal 
Academy  and  the  National  Gallery,  dined  again  at  Mr. 
Smith's,  then  went  home  with  Mr.  Williams  to  tea,  and 


380  CHARLOTTE   BRONTE 

saw  his  comparatively  humble  but  neat  residence  and 
his  fine  family  of  eight  children.  A  daughter  of  Leigh 
Hunt's  was  there.  She  sang  some  little  Italian  airs 
which  she  had  picked  up  among  the  peasantry  in 
Tuscany,  in  a  manner  that  charmed  me. 

On  Tuesday  morning  we  left  London  laden  with 
books  which  Mr.  Smith  had  given  us,  and  got  safely 
home.  A  more  jaded  wretch  than  I  looked  when  I 
returned  it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive.  I  was  thin 
when  I  went,  but  was  meagre  indeed  when  I  returned  ; 
my  face  looked  grey  and  very  old,  with  strange,  deep 
lines  ploughed  in  it ;  my  eyes  stared  unnaturally.  I 
was  weak  and  yet  restless.  In  a  while,  however,  the  bad 
effects  of  excitement  went  off  and  I  regained  my  normal 
condition.  We  saw  Mr.  Newby,  but  of  him  more  another 
time.  Good-bye.  God  bless  you.  Write. 

C.  B. 

SARAH  AUSTIN  (1793-1867) 

A  DAUGHTER  of  the  famous  clan  of  the  Taylors  of  Norwich, 
and  the  wife  of  John  Austin,  a  barrister.  She  made  trans- 
lations from  the  German  and  the  French,  and  wrote  a  book 
on  Goethe,  Germany,  and  national  education.  Her  only 
daughter,  Lady  Duff-Gordon,  was  also  an  accomplished 
translator. 

To  Mrs.  Reeve1 

SHIPS   AT   MALTA 

LAZARETTO,  MALTA,  October  1836. 

DEAR  SISTER, — Nothing  can  be  more  improving,  ani- 
mating, beautiful,  and  unlike  the  rest  of  existence,  than 

1  This  and  the  following  letters  by  Sarah  Austin  are  reprinted,  by 
kind  permission  of  Mrs.  Janet  Ross,  from  her  book,  "  Three  Genera- 
tions of  Englishwomen." 


VALETTA    HARBOUR  381 

the  first  sight  of  the  interior  of  an  English  man-of-war  ; 
the  first  day  or  two  passed  in  the  midst  of  all  her  pomp 
and  glory,  her  orderly  tumult,  her  difficulties,  and  her 
power  ;  but  the  weariness  that  comes  on  after  some  days 
is  indescribable.  Accordingly,  after  a  ten  days'  passage 
from  Marseilles  on  board  the  magnificent  frigate  Vernon, 
nothing  could  exceed  our  impatience  at  the  calm  which 
kept  us  hanging  off  the  coast  of  Malta,  nor  the  joy  with 
which  we  saw  the  steam  frigate  Medea  coming  out 
of  the  harbour  to  tow  us  in.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
effect  which  her  rapid,  undeviating  course  had  upon 
me,  after  ten  days  of  tacking,  watching,  longing  for 
winds  that  would  not  blow.  It  was  like  the  course  of  a 
man  who  asks  no  help  but  of  his  own  judgment  and 
his  own  inflexible  will,  compared  with  that  of  a  weak 
and  dependent  woman  shaping  her  way  by  every 
changing  mood.  In  an  hour  from  the  time  she  took 
our  towing  rope  we  were  in  the  great  harbour  of  Valetta. 
No  description,  and  I  think  no  painting,  can  do  justice 
to  the  wonderful  aspect.  In  the  first  place,  the  many 
harbours,  the  way  in  which  the  rocky  points  throw 
themselves  out  into  the  sea  ;  then  the  colouring,  the 
points  a  rich  yellow  white,  the  bays  deep  blue,  and 
both  lying  under  a  sky  which  renders  every  object 
sharp,  and  every  shadow  deep  and  defined.  The 
fortifications  which  grow  out  of  all  these  headlands  are 
so  engrafted  on  the  rocks,  that  you  cannot  see  where 
the  one  begins  and  the  other  ends.  The  high,  massive 
walls  overlap  and  intersect  at  so  many  points,  that 
there  can  be  no  monotony.  In  the  bright  sunlight 
the  shadows  of  all  these  angles  cut  the  earth  or  the 
sea  just  as  variously  as  the  solid  walls  do  the  sky.  Above 
all  rose  the  city,  with  its  many  churches.  The  most 


382  SARAH    AUSTIN 

striking  objects  seen  from  the  port  are  the  splendid 
Albergo  id  Castiglia,  the  lighthouse  on  Fort  St.  Elmo, 
and  the  Barracca,  a  row  of  arches  standing  on  a  lofty 
point  and  surrounded  with  trees — the  only  ones  visible. 
Imagine  these  walls  and  bastions,  this  Barracca,  and 
every  balcony  overlooking  the  harbour,  crowded  with 
people,  whose  cheers  as  we  entered  the  harbour,  rang 
across  the  waves  and  re-echoed  from  side  to  side,  with 
an  effect  that  to  me,  who  expected  nothing,  was  quite 
overpowering.  Till  this  moment  I  had  hardly  been 
conscious  of  the  awful  task  committed  to  my  husband  ; 1 
I  felt  those  cheers,  eager  and  vehement  as  they  were, 
as  the  voice  of  the  suffering  calling  for  help  and  for 
justice.  While  the  officers  around  me  were  gaily 
congratulating  me  on  a  reception  so  flattering,  I  could 
say  nothing,  and  turned  away  to  hide  my  tears. 

Innumerable  Maltese  boats  were  flitting  about  the 
harbour,  all  painted  bright  green  and  red.  Their  build 
is  peculiar  ;  the  prow  rises  like  a  swan's  neck.  Most 
of  them  have  a  little  flag,  those  belonging  to  the  Lazar- 
etto being  distinguished  by  a  yellow  one.  They  are 
rowed  by  two  men  standing,  who  at  every  stroke  bend 
forward  and  throw  their  weight  upon  the  oar.  Most 
of  them  wear  the  long  red  woollen  shawl,  which  they 
get  from  Tripoli,  girded  round  the  loins  ;  their  dress 
is  a  blue  jacket  and  blue  or  white  trowsers,  and  the  flat 
straw  hat  of  our  sailors.  Nothing  can  be  gayer  than 
the  appearance  of  these  boats,  while  darting  through 
them  might  be  seen  all  the  varieties  of  man-of-war's 
boats,  with  all  the  characteristics  of  their  nation  about 
them — steadiness,  precision,  order,  promptitude,  neat- 
ness, and  quietness. 

1  His  appointment  at  Malta  as  Royal  Commissioner. 


MALTESE    BOATS  383 

As  the  sun  sank  in  the  cloudless  sky,  the  guns  from 
all  the  ships  were  fired,  and  the  bells  and  hum  of  the 
city  were  distinctly  audible.  The  Vernon's  barge 
took  us  into  the  Quarantine  harbour,  which  lies  on  the 
other  side  of  the  tongue  of  land  on  which  stands  Valetta. 
At  the  Lazaretto  we  found  Mr.  Greig,  the  superintendent 
of  Quarantine,  waiting  to  introduce  us  to  our  rooms, 
for  we  are  supposed  to  be  infected,  as  the  Vernon  came 
from  the  Levant  to  fetch  us  at  Marseilles.  The  stillness 
of  this  very  comfortable  prison  contrasted  strongly 
with  the  scene  we  had  left,  and  was  a  great  relief  to 
wearied  travellers. 


Sarah  Austin  to  Mrs.  Simpson 

HOT-WEATHER    ATTIRE 

WEYBRIDGE,  June  1862. 

DEAREST  MINNIE, — I  was  just  going  to  write  to  Mrs. 
Senior  to  say  that,  albeit  packed,  or  nearly  so,  and 
ready  to  start,  the  heat  of  this  day  terrifies  me,  and 
I  feel  as  if  I  ought  rather  to  make  my  will  than  attempt 
a  visit.  I  really  dare  not  answer  for  myself  ;  I  have 
had  such  giddiness  from  heat  that  I  might  fall  down 
or  do  some  strange  thing.  It  is  most  provoking.  One 
difficulty  is  the  necessity  of  being  dressed  with  decency. 
The  costume  I  wish  to  adopt  is  that  in  which  I  found 
the  Princess  Villafranca — a  shift  (of  the  simplest  and 
most  primitive  cut),  a  large  black  lace  shawl,  a  pair  of 
silk  slippers  (feet  bare),  and  a  huge  fan.  (N.B. — She 
was  fatter  than  I  am.)  This  I  call  a  reasonable  dress 
for  this  weather  ;  but  I  fear  your  mother's  drawing- 
room  is  not  the  place  for  it.  Even  the  most  correct 


384  SARAH    AUSTIN 

English  ladies  in  Malta  contented  themselves  with  a 
shift  and  a  white  peignoir.  At  home  I  make  a  very 
near  approximation  to  this  ;  but,  as  Lady  W.  Russell 
said,  the  English  conclude  if  your  dress  is  loose  that 
your  morals  are  so.  In  that  case  I  am  thoroughly 
dissolute,  but  I  will  reform  at  Kensington. 

The  more  hyperborean  the  room  the  better.  If  you 
have  an  icehouse,  put  me  in  that.  Seriously,  I  could 
by  no  means  sleep,  even  if  I  were  to  lie  in  a  south  room, 
and  I  don't  the  least  mind  the  additional  stairs  ;  that 
dimculty  can  be  surmounted  by  prudence  and  patience. 
This  arrangement  has  the  additional  advantage  that 
your  kind  father  is  not  dislodged,  which  I  know  he 
was  on  my  account  before.  Anything  that  makes 
me  feel  less  of  a  bore  and  a  burden  is  a  great  comfort. 
To  conclude,  I  wish,  hope,  intend  to  be  with  you  to- 
morrow evening.  If  I  do  not  arrive  by  half-past  ten, 
pray  conclude  that  I  cannot,  and  in  that  case  I  shall 
continue  to  have  the  same  hopes  and  intentions  for 
the  following  day.  If  that  degree  of  uncertainty  puts 
you  to  any  inconvenience,  pray,  dear  child,  say  so. 
Don't  let  me  be  a  torment,  if  you  love  me,  as  I  hope 
you  do  ;  for  I  am  always,  with  a  great  deal  of  affection, 

Yours, 

S.  AUSTIN. 


SARAH    MARGARET    FULLER    (Marchioness    Ossoli) 
(1810-1850) 

WAS  born'  at  Cambridge-port,  Mass.  After  her  father's 
death  she  was  obliged  to  maintain  her  brothers  and  sisters  ; 
this  she  did  by  teaching.  Later  she  began  to  write,  edited 


FANNY    KEMBLE    AS    "BEATRICE"        385 

The  Dial,  and  contributed  a  series  of  articles  to  The  Tribune, 
In  1846  she  visited  Rome,  and  there  met  and  married  the 
Marquis  Ossoli ;  during  the  siege  she  took  charge  of  a  hos- 
pital. On  returning  to  America  in  1850  she,  her  husband, 
and  their  little  boy  were  drowned,  the  vessel  being  wrecked 
near  New  York.  The  child's  body  was  washed  ashore; 
those  of  his  parents  were  never  recovered.  The  last  letter 
of  Madame  Ossoli,  that  of  May  14,  1850,  printed  on  page  401, 
did  not  reach  its  destination  till  after  her  death. 


Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  to  

FANNY    KEMBLE 

[1837  ?] 

When  in  Boston,  I  saw  the  Kembles  twice — in 
Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  and  The  Stranger.  The 
first  night  I  felt  much  disappointed  in  Miss  K. 
In  the  gay  parts  a  coquettish,  courtly  manner  marred 
the  wild  mirth  and  wanton  wit  of  Beatrice.  Yet,  in 
everything  else  I  liked  her  conception  of  the  part ; 
and  where  she  urges  Benedict  to  fight  with  Claudio, 
and  where  she  reads  Benedict's  sonnet,  she  was 
admirable.  But  I  received  no  more  pleasure  from  Miss 
K.'s  acting  out  the  part  than  I  have  done  in  reading 
it,  and  this  disappointed  me.  Neither  did  I  laugh, 
but  thought  all  the  while  of  Miss  K. — how  very  graceful 
she  was,  and  whether  this  and  that  way  of  rendering 
the  part  was  just.  I  do  not  believe  she  has  comic 
power  within  herself,  though  tasteful  enough  to  com- 
prehend any  part.  So  I  went  home,  vexed  because 
my  "  heart  was  not  full,"  and  my  "  brain  not  on  fire  " 
with  enthusiasm.  I  drank  my  milk,  and  went  to 


386  SARAH    MARGARET    FULLER 

sleep,  as  on  other  dreary  occasions,  and  dreamed  not 
of  Miss  Kemble. 

Next  night,  however,  I  went  expectant,  and  all  my 
soul  was  satisfied.  I  saw  her  at  a  favourable  distance, 
arid  she  looked  beautiful.  And  as  the  scene  rose  in 
interest,  her  attitudes,  her  gestures,  had  the  expression 
which  an  Angelo  could  give  to  sculpture.  After  she 
tells  her  story, — and  I  was  almost  suffocated  by  the 
effort  she  made  to  divulge  her  sin  and  fall — she  sunk 
to  the  earth,  her  head  bowed  upon  her  knee,  her  white 
drapery  falling  in  large,  graceful  folds  about  this  broken 
piece  of  beautiful  humanity,  crushed  in  the  very  manner 
so  well  described  by  Scott  when  speaking  of  a  far 
different  person,  "  not  as  one  intentionally  stoops, 
kneels,  or  prostrates  himself  to  excite  compassion,  but 
like  a  man  borne  down  on  all  sides  by  the  pressure  of 
some  invisible  force,  which  crushes  him  to  the  earth 
without  power  of  resistance. "  A  movement  of  ab- 
horrence from  me,  as  her  insipid  confidante  turned 
away,  attested  the  triumph  of  the  poet-actress.  Had 
not  all  been  over  in  a  moment,  I  believe  I  could  not 
have  refrained  from  rushing  forward  to  raise  the  fair, 
frail  being,  who  seemed  so  prematurely  humbled  in 
her  parent  dust.  I  burst  into  tears  :  and,  with  the 
stifled,  hopeless  feeling  of  a  real  sorrow,  continued  to 
weep  till  the  very  end  ;  nor  could  I  recover  till  I  left 
the  house. 

That  is  genius,  which  could  give  such  life  to  this 
play  ;  for,  if  I  may  judge  from  other  parts,  it  is  deforced 
by  inflated  sentiments,  and  verified  by  few  natural 
touches.  I  wish  I  had  it  to  read,  for  I  should  like  to 
recall  her  every  tone  and  look. 


THE    SPELL    OF    MUSIC  387 

Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  to  Beethoven 

TO    THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    MASTER1 

Saturday  Evening,  November  25,   1843. 

MY  ONLY  FRIEND, — How  shall  I  thank  thee  for  once 
more  breaking  the  chains  of  my  sorrowful  slumber  ? 
My  heart  beats.  I  live  again,  for  I  feel  that  I  am 
worthy  audience  for  thee,  and  that  my  being  would  be 
reason  enough  for  thine. 

Master,  my  eyes  are  always  clear.  I  see  that  the 
universe  is  rich,  if  I  am  poor.  I  see  the  insignificance  of 
my  sorrows.  In  my  will,  I  am  not  a  captive  ;  in  my 
intellect,  not  a  slave.  Is  it  then  my  fault  that  the 
palsy  of  my  affections  benumbs  my  whole  life  ? 

I  know  that  the  curse  is  but  for  the  time.  I  know 
what  the  eternal  justice  promises.  But  on  this  one 
sphere  it  is  sad.  Thou  didst  say,  thou  hadst  no  friend 
but  thy  art.  But  that  one  is  enough.  I  have  no  art, 
in  which  to  vent  the  swell  of  a  soul  as  deep  as  thine, 
Beethoven,  and  of  a  kindred  frame.  Thou  wilt  not 
think  me  presumptuous  in  this  saying,  as  another 
might.  I  have  always  known  that  thou  wouldst  welcome 
and  know  me,  as  would  no  other  who  ever  lived  upon 
the  earth  since  its  first  creation. 

Thou  wouldst  forgive  me,  master,  that  I  have  not 
been  true  to  my  eventual  destiny,  and  therefore  have 
suffered  on  every  side  "  the  pangs  of  despised  love." 
Thou  didst  the  same  ;  but  thou  didst  borrow  from 
those  errors  the  inspiration  of  thy  genius.  Why  is  it 
not  thus  with  me  ?  Is  it  because,  as  a  woman,  I  am 
bound  by  a  physical  law,  which  prevents  the  soul 

1  Here  Beethoven  is  only  Madame  Ossoli's  imaginary  corre- 
spondent, as  he  died  in  1827. 


388  SARAH    MARGARET    FULLER 

from  manifesting  itself  ?  Sometimes  the  moon  seems 
mockingly  to  say  so — to  say  that  I,  too,  shall  not 
shine,  unless  I  can  find  a  sun.  O,  cold  and  barren 
moon,  tell  a  different  tale  ! 

But  thou,  oh  blessed  master  !  dost  answer  all  my 
questions,  and  make  it  my  privilege  to  be.  Like  a 
humble  wife  to  the  sage  or  poet,  it  is  my  triumph  that 
I  can  understand  and  cherish  thee  :  like  a  mistress,  I 
arm  thee  for  the  fight :  like  a  young  daughter,  I  tenderly 
bind  thy  wounds.  Thou  art  to  me  beyond  compare, 
for  thou  art  all  I  want.  No  heavenly  sweetness  of 
saint  or  martyr,  no  many-leaved  Raphael,  no  golden 
Plato,  is  anything  to  me,  compared  with  thee.  The 
infinite  Shakspeare,  the  stern  Angelo,  Dante, — bitter- 
sweet like  thee, — are  no  longer  seen  in  thy  presence. 
And,  beside  these  names,  there  are  none  that  could 
vibrate  to  thy  crystal  sphere.  Thou  hast  all  of  them, 
and  that  ample  surge  of  life  besides,  that  great  winged 
being  which  they  only  dreamed  of.  There  is  none 
greater  than  Shakspeare  ;  he,  too,  is*  a  god  ;  but  his 
creations  are  successive  :  thy  fiat  comprehends  them  all. 

Last  summer  I  met  thy  mood  in  nature,  on^those 
wide,  impassioned  plains  flower-  and  crag-bestrewn. 
There  the  tide  of  emotion  had  rolled  over,  and  left 
the  vision  of  its  smiles  and  sobs,  as  I  saw  to-night 
from  thee. 

If  thou  wouldst  take  me  wholly  to  thyself !  I 

am  lost  in  this  world,  where  I  sometimes  meet  angels, 
but  of  a  different  star  from  mine.  Even  so  does  thy 
spirit  plead  with  all  spirits.  But  thou  dost  triumph 
and  bring  them  all  in. 

Master,  I  have  this  summer  envied  the  oriole  which 
had  even  a  swinging  nest  in  the  high  bough.  I  have 


THOMAS    CARLYLE  389 

envied  the  least  flower  that  came  to  seed ,  though  that 
seed  were  strown  to  the  wind.  But  I  envy  none  when 
I  am  with  thee. 


Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  to  Ralph  Waldo  E[merson] 

A   PEN-PICTURE    OF   CARLYLE 

[PARIS,  November  16,  1846.] 

Of  the  people  I  saw  in  London,  you  will  wish  me 
to  speak  first  of  the  Carlyles.  Mr.  C.  came  to  see  me 
at  once,  and  appointed  an  evening  to  be  passed  at 
their  house.  That  first  time  I  was  delighted  with  him. 
He  was  in  a  very  sweet  humour — full  of  wit  and  pathos, 
without  being  overbearing  or  oppressive.  I  was  quite 
carried  away  with  the  rich  flow  of  his  discourse  ;  and 
the  hearty,  noble  earnestness  of  his  personal  being 
brought  back  the  charm  which  once  was  upon  his 
writing,  before  I  weaned  of  it.  I  admired  his  Scotch, 
his  way  of  singing  his  great  full  sentences,  so  that 
each  one  was  like  the  stanza  of  a  narrative  ballad. 
He  let  me  talk,  now  and  then,  enough  to  free  my  lungs 
and  change  my  position,  so  that  I  did  not  get  tired. 
That  evening  he  talked  of  the  present  state  of  things 
in  England,  giving  light,  witty  sketches  of  the  men 
of  the  day,  fanatics  and  others,  and  some  sweet,  homely 
stories  he  told  of  things  he  had  known  of  the  Scotch 
peasantry.  Of  you  he  spoke  with  hearty  kindness  : 
and  he  told,  with  beautiful  feeling,  a  story  of  some 
poor  farmer,  an  artisan,  in  the  country,  who  on  Sunday 
lays  aside  the  cark  and  care  of  that  dirty  English 
world,  and  sits  reading  the  Essays,  and  looking  upon 
the  sea. 


390  SARAH    MARGARET    FULLER 

I  left  him  that  night  intending  to  go  out  very  often 
to  their  house.  I  assure  you  there  never  was  anything 

so  witty  as  Carlyle's  description  of .  It  was 

enough  to  kill  one  with  laughing.  I,  on  my  side,  con- 
tributed a  story  to  his  fund  of  anecdote  on  this  subject, 
and  it  was  fully  appreciated.  Carlyle  is  worth 
a  thousand  of  you  for  that ; — he  is  not  ashamed  to  laugh 
when  he  is  amused,  but  goes  on  in  a  cordial,  human 
fashion. 

The  second  time  Mr.  C.  had  a  dinner-party,  at  which 
was  a  witty,  French,  flippant  sort  of  man,1  author  of 
a  History  of  Philosophy,  and  now  writing  a  Life  of 
Goethe,  a  task  for  which  he  must  be  as  unfit  as  irreligion 
and  sparkling  shallowness  can  make  him.  But  he 
told  stories  admirably,  and  was  allowed  sometimes  to 
interrupt  Carlyle  a  little,  of  which  one  was  glad,  for 
_that  night  he  was  in  his  more  acrid  mood  ;  and,  though 
much  more  brilliant  than  on  the  former  evening,  grew 
wearisome  to  me,  who  disclaimed  and  rejected  almost 
everything  he  said. 

For  a  couple  of  hours  he  was  talking  about  poetry  ; 
and  the  whole  harangue  was  one  eloquent  proclamation 
of  the  defects  in  his  own  mind.  Tennyson  wrote  in 
verse  because  the  schoolmasters  had  taught  him  that 
it  was  great  to  do  so,  and  had  thus,  unfortunately, 
been  turned  from  the  true  path  for  a  man.  Burns 
had,  in  like  manner,  been  turned  from  his  vocation. 
Shakespeare  had  not  the  good  sense  to  see  that  it  would 
have  been  better  to  write  straight  on  in  prose  ; — and 
such  nonsense,  which,  though  amusing  enough  at 
first,  he  ran  to  death  after  a  while.  The  most  amusing 
part  is  always  when  he  comes  back  to  some  refrain,  as 
1  Apparently  George  Henry  Lewes. 


MRS.    CARLYLE  391 

in  the  "  French  Revolution"  of  the  sea-green.  In  this 
instance,  it  was  Petrarch  and  Laura,  the  last  word  pro- 
nounced with  his  ineffable  sarcasm  of  drawl.  Although 
he  said  this  over  fifty  times,  I  could  not  ever  help 
laughing  when  Laura  would  come,  Carlyle  running 
his  chin  out,  when  he  spoke  it,  and  his  eyes  glancing 
till  they  looked  like  the  eyes  and  beak  of  a  bird  of 
prey.  Poor  Laura  !  Lucky  for  her  that  her  poet 
had  already  got  her  safely  canonized  beyond  the  reach 
of  this  Teufelsdrockh  vulture. 

The  worst  of  hearing  Carlyle  is  that  you  cannot  in- 
terrupt him.  I  understand  the  habit  and  power  of 
haranguing  have  increased  very  much  upon  him,  so 
that  you  are  a  perfect  prisoner  when  he  has  once  got 
hold  of  you.  To  interrupt  him  is  a  physical  impossi- 
bility. If  you  get  a  chance  to  remonstrate  for  a  moment, 
he  raises  his  voice  and  bears  you  down.  True,  he 
does  you  no  injustice,  and,  with  his  admirable  pene- 
tration, sees  the  disclaimer  in  your  mind,  so  that  you 
are  not  morally  delinquent ;  but  it  is  not  pleasant  to 
be  unable  to  utter  it.  The  latter  part  of  the  evening, 
however,  he  paid  us  for  this,  by  a  series  of  sketches, 
in  his  finest  style  of  railing  and  raillery,  of  modern 
French  literature,  not  one  of  them,  perhaps,  perfectly 
just,  but  all  drawn  with  the  finest,  boldest  strokes, 
and,  from  his  point  of  view,  masterly.  All  were  de- 
preciating, except  that  of  Beranger.  Of  him  he  spoke 
with  perfect  justice,  because  with  hearty  sympathy. 

I  had  afterward  some  talk  with  Mrs.  C.,  whom 
hitherto  I  had  only  seen ;  for  who  can  speak  while  her 
husband  is  there  ?  I  like  her  very  much  ; — she  is  full 
of  grace,  sweetness,  and  talent.  Her  eyes  are  sad  and 
charming.  .  .  . 


392  SARAH    MARGARET    FULLER 

After  this,  they  went  to  stay  at  Lord  Ashbur ton's, 
and  I  only  saw  them  once  more,  when  they  came  to 
pass  an  evening  with  us.  Unluckily,  Mazzini  was  with 
us,  whose  society,  when  he  was  there  alone,  I  enjoyed 
more  than  any.  He  is  a  beauteous  and  pure  music  : 
also,  he  is  a  dear  friend  of  Mrs.  C.,  but  his  being  there 
gave  the  conversation  a  turn  to  "  progress  "  and  ideal 
subjects,  and  C.  was  fluent  in  invectives  on  all  our 
"  rose  water  imbecilities/'  We  all  felt  distant  from 
him,  and  Mazzini,  after  some  vain  efforts  to  remonstrate, 
became  very  sad.  Mrs.  C.  said  to  me,  "  These  are  but 
opinions  to  Carlyle  ;  but  to  Mazzini,  who  has  given  his 
all,  and  helped  bring  his  friends  to  the  scaffold,  in  pursuit 
of  such  subjects,  it  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

All  Carlyle's  talk  that  evening  was  a  defence  of 
mere  force — success  the  test  of  right ; — if  people  would 
not  behave  well,  put  collars  round  their  necks  ; — find 
a  hero,  and  let  them  be  his  slaves,  etc.  It  was  very 
Titanic,  and  anti-celestial.  I  wish  the  last  evening 
had  been  more  melodious.  However,  I  bid  Carlyle 
farewell,  with  feelings  of  the  warmest  friendship  and 
admiration.  We  cannot  feel  otherwise  to  a  great 
and  noble  nature,  whether  it  harmonises  with  our  own 
or  not.  I  never  appreciated  what  he  has  done  for  his 
age  till  I  saw  England.  I  could  not.  You  must  stand 
in  the  shadow  of  that  mountain  of  shams,  to  know 
how  hard  it  is  to  cast  light  across  it. 

Honour  to  Carlyle  !  Hoch  \  Although,  in  the  wine 
with  which  we  drink  this  health,  I,  for  one,  must  mingle 
the  despised  "  rose-water." 

And  now,  having  to  your  eye  shown  the  defects  of 
my  own  mind,  in  the  sketch  of  another,  I  will  pass 
on  more  lowly, — more  willing  to  be  imperfect,  since 


CARLYLE'S    TALK  393 

Fate  permits  such  notable  creatures,  after  all,  to  be 
only  this  or  that.  It  is  much  if  one  is  not  only  a  crow 
or  magpie  ; — Carlyle  is  only  a  lion.  Some  time  we 
may,  all  in  full,  be  intelligent  and  humanly  fair. 


Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  to  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

CARLYLE'S  CONVERSATION 

PARIS,  December  1846. 

Accustomed  to  the  infinite  wit  and  exuberant  richness 
of  his  writings,  his  talk  is  still  an  amazement  and  a 
splendour  scarcely  to  be  faced  with  steady  eyes.  He 
does  not  converse,  only  harangues.  It  is  the  usual 
misfortune  of  such  marked  men, — happily  not  one 
invariable  or  inevitable, — that  they  cannot  allow  other 
minds  room  to  breathe,  and  show  themselves  in  their 
atmosphere,  and  thus  miss  the  refreshment  and  in- 
struction which  the  greatest  never  cease  to  need  from 
the  experience  of  the  humblest.  Carlyle  allows  no 
one  a  chance,  but  bears  down  all  opposition,  not  only 
by  his  wit  and  onset  of  words,  resistless  in  their  sharpness 
as  so  many  bayonets,  but  by  actual  physical  superiority 
— raising  his  voice,  and  rushing  on  his  opponent  with 
a  torrent  of  sound.  This  is  not  in  the  least  from 
unwillingness  to  allow  freedom  to  others.  On  the 
contrary,  no  man  would  more  enjoy  a  manly  resistance 
to  his  thought.  But  it  is  the  impulse  of  a  mind 
accustomed  to  follow  out  its  own  impulse,  as  the  hawk 
its  prey,  and  which  knows  not  how  to  stop  in  the  chase. 
Carlyle  indeed  is  arrogant  and  overbearing  ;  but  in 
his  arrogance  there  is  no  littleness — no  self-love.  It  is 
the  heroic  arrogance  of  some  old  Scandinavian  con- 


394  SARAH    MARGARET    FULLER 

queror  ; — it  is  his  nature,  and  the  untamable  impulse 
that  has  given  him  power  to  crush  the  dragons.  You 
do  not  love  him,  perhaps,  nor  revere  ;  and  perhaps, 
also  he  would  only  laugh  at  you  if  you  did  ;  but  you 
like  him  heartily,  and  like  to  see  him  the  powerful 
smith,  the  Siegfrid,  melting  all  the  old  iron  in  his  furnace 
till  it  glows  to  a  sunset  red,  and  burns  you,  if  you  sense- 
lessly go  too  near.  He  seems,  to  me,  quite  isolated, — 
lonely  as  the  desert, — yet  never  was  a  man  more  fitted 
to  prize  a  man,  could  he  find  one  to  match  his  mood. 
He  finds  them,  but  only  in  the  past. 

He  sings,  rather  than  talks.  He  pours  upon  you  a 
kind  of  satirical,  heroical,  critical  poem,  with  regular 
cadences,  and  generally  catching  up,  near  the  begin- 
ning, some  singular  epithet,  which  serves  as  a  refrain 
when  his  song  is  full,  or  with  which,  as  with  a 
knitting  needle,  he  catches  up  the  stitches,  if  he  has 
chanced,  now  and  then,  to  let  fall  a  row.  For  the 
higher  kinds  of  poetry  he  has  no  sense,  and  his  talk 
on  that  subject  is  delightfully  and  gorgeously  absurd. 
He  sometimes  stops  a  minute  to  laugh  at  it  himself, 
then  begins  anew  with  fresh  vigour ;  for  all  the 
spirits  he  is  driving  before  him  seem  to  him  as  Fata 
Morganas,  ugly  masks,  in  fact,  if  he  can  but  make 
them  turn  about ;  but  he  laughs  that  they  seem  to 
others  such  dainty  Ariels.  His  talk,  like  his  books, 
is  full  of  pictures  ;  his  critical  strokes  masterly.  Allow 
for  his  point  of  view,  and  his  survey  is  admirable. 
He  is  a  large  subject.  I  cannot  speak  more  or  wiselier 
of  him  now,  nor  needs  it ; — his  works  are  true,  to 
blame  and  praise  him, — the  Siegfrid  of  England, — 
great  and  powerful,  if  not  quite  invulnerable,  and  of  a 
might  rather  to  destroy  evil  than  legislate  for  good.  .  .  . 


GEORGE    SAND  395 

Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  to  E.  H. 

GEORGE    SAND 

PARIS,  January  18,   1847. 

You  wished  to  hear  of  George  Sand,  or,  as  they  say 
in  Paris,  "Madame  Sand/'  I  find  that  all  we  had 
heard  of  her  was  true  in  the  outline  ;  I  had  supposed 
it  might  be  exaggerated.  She  had  every  reason  to 
leave  her  husband, — a  stupid,  brutal  man,  who  insulted 
and  neglected  her.  He  afterwards  gave  up  their  child 
to  her  for  a  sum  of  money.  .  .  .  She  takes  rank  in 
society  like  a  man,  for  the  weight  of  her  thoughts,  and 
has  just  given  her  daughter  in  marriage.  Her  son  is 
a  grown-up  young  man,  an  artist.  Many  women  visit 
her  and  esteem  it  an  honour. 

The  servant  who  admitted  me  was  in  the  picturesque 
costume  of  a  peasant,  and,  as  Madame  Sand  afterward 
told  me,  her  god-daughter,  whom  she  had  brought 
from  her  province.  She  announced  me  as  "  Madame 
Saleze,"  and  returned  into  the  ante-room  to  tell  me, 
"  Madame  says  she  does  not  know  you."  I  began  to 
think  I  was  doomed  to  the  rebuff,  among  the  crowd 
who  deserve  it.  However,  to  make  assurance  sure, 
I  said,  "  Ask  if  she  has  not  received  a  letter  from  me.'' 
As  I  spoke,  Madame  S.  opened  the  door,  and  stood 
looking  at  me  an  instant.  Our  eyes  met.  I  never 
shall  forget  her  look  at  that  moment.  The  doorway 
made  a  frame  for  her  figure  ;  she  is  large,  but  well- 
formed.  She  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of  dark  violet  silk, 
with  a  black  mantle  on  her  shoulders,  her  beautiful 
hair  dressed  with  the  greatest  taste,  her  whole  ap- 
pearance and  attitude,  in  its  simple  and  ladylike  dignity, 
presented  an  almost  ludicrous  contrast  to  the  vulgar 


396      SARAH  MARGARET  FULLER 

caricature  idea  of  George  Sand.  Her  face  is  a  very 
little  like  the  portraits,  but  much  finer  ;  the  upper 
part  of  the  forehead  and  eyes  are  beautiful,  the  lower, 
strong  and  masculine,  expressive  of  a  hardy  tempera- 
ment and  strong  passions,  but  not  in  the  least  coarse  ; 
the  complexion  olive,  and  the  air  of  the  whole  head 
Spanish  (as,  indeed,  she  was  born  at  Madrid,  and  is 
only  on  one  side  of  French  blood).  All  these  details 
I  saw  at  a  glance  ;  but  what  fixed  my  attention  was 
the  expression  of  goodness,  nobleness,  and  power,  that 
pervaded  the  whole, — the  truly  human  heart  and 
nature  that  shone  in  the  eyes.  As  our  eyes  met,  she 
said,  "  C'est  vous,"  and  held  out  her  hand.  I  took  it, 
and  went  into  her  little  study  ;  we  sat  down  a  moment, 
then  I  said,  "  II  me  fait  de  bien  de  vous  voir,"  and  I 
am  sure  I  said  it  with  my  whole  heart,  for  it  made 
me  very  happy  to  see  such  a  woman,  so  large  and  so 
developed  a  character,  and  everything  that  is  good 
in  it  so  really  good.  I  loved,  shall  always  love  her. 

She  looked  away  and  said,  "Ah!  vous  m'avez  ecrit 
une  lettre  charmante.  This  was  all  the  preliminary  of 
our  talk,  which  then  went  on  as  if  we  had  always  known 
one  another.  She  told  me,  before  I  went  away,  that 
she  was  going  that  very  day  to  write  to  me  ;  that  when 
the  servant  announced  me  she  did  not  recognise  the 
name,  but  after  a  minute  it  struck  her  that  it  might 
be  La  Dame  Americaine,  as  the  foreigners  very  commonly 
call  me,  for  they  find  my  name  hard  to  remember. 
She  was  very  much  pressed  for  time,  as  she  was  then 
preparing  copy  for  the  printer,  and  having  just  returned, 
there  were  many  applications  to  see  her,  but  she  wanted 
me  to  stay  then,  saying,  "It  is  better  to  throw  things 
aside,  and  seize  the  present  moment."  I  stayed  a 


CHOPIN  397 

good  part  of  the  day,  and  was  very  glad  afterwards, 
for  I  did  not  see  her  again  uninterrupted.  Another 
day  I  was  there,  and  saw  her  in  her  circle.  Her  daughter 
and  another  lady  were  present,  and  a  number  of  gentle- 
men. Her  position  there  was  of  an  intellectual  woman 
and  good  friend, — the  same  as  my  own  in  the  circle 
of  my  acquaintance  as  distinguished  from  my  in- 
timates. .  .  . 

Her  way  of  talking  is  just  like  her  writing, — lively, 
picturesque,  with  an  undertone  of  deep  feeling,  and 
the  same  happiness  in  striking  the  nail  on  the  head 
every  now  and  then  with  a  blow. 

We  did  not  talk  at  all  of  personal  or  private  matters. 
I  saw,  as  one  sees  in  her  writings,  the  want  of  an  in- 
dependent, interior  life,  but  I  did  not  feel  it  as  a  fault, 
there  is  so  much  in  her  of  her  kind.  I  heartily  enjoyed 
the  sense  of  so  rich,  so  prolific,  so  ardent  a  genius.  I 
liked  the  woman t in  her,  too,  very  much  ;  I  never  liked 
a  woman  better.  .  .  I  forgot  to  mention  that,  while 
talking,  she  does  smoke  all  the  time  her  little  cigarette. 
This  is  now  a  common  practice  among  ladies  abroad, 
but  I  believe  originated  with  her. 

For  the  rest,  she  holds  her  place  in  the  literary  and 
social  world  of  France  like  a  man,  and  seems  full  of 
energy  and  courage  in  it.  I  suppose  she  has  suffered 
much,  but  she  has  also  enjoyed  and  done  much,  and 
her  expression  is  one  of  calmness  and  happiness.  .  .  . 

Afterwards  I  saw  Chopin.  ...  I  went  to  see  him  in 
his  room  with  one  of  his  friends.  He  is  always  ill, 
and  as  frail  as  a  snowdrop,  but  an  exquisite  genius. 
He  played  to  me,  and  I  liked  his  talking  scarcely  less. 
Madame  S.  loved  Liszt  before  him  ;  she  has  thus  been 
intimate  with  the  two  opposite  sides  of  the  musical 


398  SARAH    MARGARET    FULLER 

world.  Mickiewiez  says,  "  Chopin  talks  with  spirit, 
and  gives  us  the  Ariel  view  of  the  universe.  Liszt  is 
the  eloquent  tribune  to  the  world  of  men,  a  little  vulgar 
and  showy  certainly,  but  I  like  the  tribune  best."  It 
is  said  here  that  Madame  S.  has  long  had  a  friend- 
ship only  for  Chopin,  who,  perhaps,  on  his  side,  prefers 
to  be  a  lover,  and  a  jealous  lover  ;  but  she  does  not 
leave  him,  because  he  needs  her  care  so  much,  when 
sick  and  suffering.  .  .  . 


Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  to  E.  H. 

RACHAEL 

[PARIS  1847.] 

.  .  .  When  I  came  here,  my  first  thought  was  to  go 
and  see  Mademoiselle  Rachael.  I  was  sure  that  in 
her  I  should  find  a  true  genius.  I  /went  to  see  her 
seven  or  eight  times,  always  in  parts  that  required 
great  force  of  soul  and  purity  of  taste,  even  to  conceive 
them,  and  only  once  had  reason  to  find  fault  with 
her.  On  one  single  occasion  I  saw  her  violate  the 
harmony  of  her  character,  to  produce  effect  at  a  par- 
ticular moment ;  but,  almost  invariably,  I  found  her 
a  true  artist,  worthy  of  Greece,  and  worthy  at  many 
moments  to  have  her  conceptions  immortalised  in 
marble. 

Her  range  even  in  high  tragedy  is  limited.  She 
can  only  express  the  darker  passions,  and  grief  in  its 
most  desolate  aspects.  Nature  has  not  gifted  her 
with  those  softer  and  more  flowery  attributes  that 
lend  to  pathos  its  utmost  tenderness.  She  does  not 
melt  in  tears,  or  calm  or  elevate  the  heart  by  the  presence 


RACHAEL  399 

of  that  tragic  beauty  that  needs  all  the  assaults  of  fate 
to  make  it  show  its  immortal  sweetness.  Her  noblest 
aspect  is  when  sometimes  she  expresses  truth  in  some 
severe  shape,  and  rises,  simple  and  austere,  above  the 
mixed  elements  around  her.  On  the  dark  side,  she 
is  very  great  in  hatred  and  revenge.  I  admired  her 
more  in  Phedre  than  in  any  other  part  in  which  I  saw 
her  ;  the  guilty  love  inspired  by  the  hatred  of  a  goddess 
was  expressed,  in  all  its  symptoms,  with  a  free  and 
terrible  naturalness,  that  almost  suffocated  the  beholder. 
After  she  had  .taken  the  poison,  the  exhaustion  and 
paralysis  of  the  system, — the  sad,  cold,  calm  sub- 
mission to  Fate, — were  still  more  grand. 

I  had  heard  so  much  about  the  power  of  her  eye  in 
one  fixed  look,  and  the  expression  she  could  concentrate 
in  a  single  word,  that  the  utmost  results  could  only 
satisfy  my  expectations.  It  is,  indeed,  something 
magnificent  to  see  the  dark  cloud  give  out  such  sparks, 
each  one  fit  to  deal  a  separate  death  ;  but  it  was  not 
that  I  admired  most  in  her.  It  was  the  grandeur, 
truth,  and  depth  of  her  conception  of  each  part,  and 
the  sustained  purity  with  which  she  represented  it. 

The  French  language  from  her  lips  is  a  divine  dialect ; 
it  is  stripped  of  its  national  and  personal  peculiarities, 
and  becomes  what  any  language  must,  moulded  by 
such  a  genius — the  pure  music  of  the  heart  and  soul. 
I  never  could  remember  her  tone  in  speaking  any 
word  :  it  was  too  perfect ;  you  had  received  the  thought 
quite  direct.  Yet,  had  I  never  heard  her  speak  a 
word,  my  mind  would  be  filled  by  her  attitudes. 
Nothing  more  graceful  can  be  conceived,  nor  could 
the  genius  of  sculpture  surpass  her  management  of  the 
antique  drapery. 


400      SARAH  MARGARET  FULLER 

She  has  no  beauty,  except  in  the  intellectual  severity 
of  her  outline,  and  she  bears  marks  of  race  that  will 
grow  stronger  every  year,  and  make  her  ugly  at  last. 
Still  it  will  be  a  grandiose  gipsy,  or  rather  Sibylline 
ugliness,  well  adapted  to  the  expression  of  some  tragic 
parts.  Only  it  seems  as  if  she  could  not  live  long  ; 
she  expends  force  enough  upon  a  part  to  furnish  out 
a  dozen  common  lives. 


Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  to  her  Mother 

THE    BABY 

FLORENCE,  December  i,  1849. 

I  do  not  know  what  to  write  about  the  baby,  he 
changes  so  much,  has  so  many  characters.  He  is  like 
me  in  that,  for  his  father's  character  is  simple  and 
uniform,  though  not  monotonous,  any  more  than  are 
the  flowers  of  spring,  flowers  of  the  valley.  Angelino 
is  now  in  the  most  perfect,  rosy  health, — a  very  gay, 
impetuous,  ardent,  but  sweet-tempered  child.  He 
seems  to  me  to  have  nothing  in  common  with  his  first 
babyhood,  with  its  ecstatic  smiles,  its  exquisite  sensitive- 
ness, and  a  distinction  in  the  gesture  and  attitudes 
that  struck  everybody.  He  is  now  come  to  quite  a 
knowing  age, — fifteen  months. 

In  the  morning  as  soon  as  dressed,  he  signs  to  come 
into  our  room  ;  then  draws  our  curtain  with  his  little 
dimpled  hand,  kisses  me  rather  violently,  pats  my  face, 
laughs,  crows,  shows  his  teeth,  blows  like  the  bellows, 
stretches  himself,  and  says  "  bravo."  Then,  having 
shown  off  all  his  accomplishments,  he  expects,  as  a 
reward,  to  be  tied  in  his  chair,  and  have  his  playthings. 


HUSBAND    AND    CHILD  401 

These  engage  him  busily,  but  still  he  calls  to  us  to 
sing  and  drum,  to  enliven  the  scene.  Sometimes  he 
summons  me  to  kiss  his  hand,  and  laughs  very  much  at 
this.  Enchanting  is  that  baby-laugh,  all  dimples 
and  glitter, — so  strangely  arch  and  innocent !  Then 
I  wash  and  dress  him.  That  is  his  great  time.  He 
makes  it  last  as  long  as  he  can,  insisting  to  dress  and 
wash  me  the  while,  kicking,  throwing  the  water  about, 
and  full  of  all  manner  of  tricks,  such  as,  I  think,  girls 
never  dream  of.  Then  comes  his  walk ; — we  have 
beautiful  walks  here  for  him,  protected  by  fine  trees, 
always  warm  in  mid-winter.  The  bands  are  playing 
in  the  distance,  and  children  of  all  ages  are  moving 
about,  and  sitting  with  their  nurses.  His  walk  and 
sleep  give  me  about  three  hours  in  the  middle  of 
the  day. 


Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  to  her  Mother 

A   FAREWELL 

FLORENCE,  May  14,  1850. 

I  will  believe  I  shall  be  welcome  with  my  treasures — 
my  husband  and  child.  For  me,  I  long  so  much  to 
see  you  !  Should  anything  hinder  our  meeting  upon 
earth,  think  of  your  daughter,  as  one  who  always  wished, 
at  least,  to  do  her  duty,  and  who  always  cherished 
you,  according  as  her  mind  opened  to  discover  excellence. 
Give  dear  love,  too,  to  my  brothers  ;  and  first  to 
my  eldest,  faithful  friend  !  Eugene  ;  a  sister's  love  to 
Ellen  ;  love  to  my  kind  and  good  aunts,  and  to  my 

dear  cousin  E God  bless  them  ! 

I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  pass  some  time  together, 

26 


402  LADY    HESTER    STANHOPE 

yet,   in  this  world.     But  if  God  decrees  otherwise, — 
here  and  Here  after, — my  dearest  mother, 

Your  loving  child, 

MARGARET. 


LADY    HESTER    STANHOPE    (1776-1839) 

WAS  the  eldest  daughter  of  Earl  Stanhope,  and  niece  of 
William  Pitt,  with  whom  she  lived  till  his  death  in  1806. 
Four  years  later  she  left  England  to  travel  in  the  East, 
and  eventually  made  her  home  on  Mount  Lebanon,  where 
she  was  regarded  with  great  veneration  by  the  tribes.  The 
last  years  of  her  life  were  spent  in  great  distress,  owing 
to  her  recklessness  in  money  matters.  Lady  Hester  was 
probably  the  most  intrepid  woman  traveller  of  her  time. 


To  H.R.H.  Maxmilian  Duke  of  Bavaria 

A    ROYAL   VISITOR 

JOON,  June  8,  1838. 

HIGHNESS, — I  cannot  sufficiently  appreciate  the  honour 
you  intend  me  in  wishing  to  visit  my  hermitage ;  but 
permit  me  to  impose  these  conditions  on  you — that 
you  say  not  a  word  more,  neither  you  nor  the  noblemen 
in  your  suite,  of  those  trifling  services  which  you  have 
so  graciously  and  benevolently  accepted.  Allow  me 
also  to  acquaint  your  highness,  that,  although  I  was 
in  my  time  a  woman  of  the  world,  for  these  last  twenty 
years  I  have  been  nothing  but  a  philosopher,  who 
turns  out  of  her  road  for  nobody.  When  Alexander 
the  Great  visited  Diogenes,  he  neither  changed  his 
dress  nor  moved  his  tub  for  him  :  pardon  me,  prince, 
if  I  imitate  his  example. 


tHE    COUNTRY    HOUSE  403 

There  was  a  time  when  my  house  was  passable ;  but 
now  there  are  many  rooms  in  ruins  for  want  of  repairs — 
especially  a  large  pavilion  in  the  garden,  tumbling 
down  from  an  earthquake  ;  so  that  I  could  not  lodge 
more  than  three  or  four  persons  at  a  time.  What 
lodging  I  have  for  you  is,  first  of  all,  a  little  garden 
on  the  east  side  of  my  residence,  with  a  small  saloon, 
and  outside  of  the  door  two  mustabys,1  where  two 
persons  might  sleep.  Adjoining  the  saloon  is  a  bedroom, 
and  at  the  back  of  it  a  sleeping-room  for  two  valets, 
with  mattresses  on  the  floor,  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  country.  The  saloon  has  a  trellis  in  front.  Just 
out  of  the  garden-gate  is  a  little  place  to  make  coffee, 
or  boil  water  for  shaving  ;  and  opposite  to  it  is  another 
room  for  ordinary  strangers,  where  two  persons  can  sleep, 
and  where  Count  Tattenbach  was  lodged.  For  the  other 
servants  there  is  room  in  one  of  the  courtyards.  As  for 
my  own  divan,  it  has  been  in  a  ruinous  state  for  some  years, 
and  I  inhabit  at  present  a  badly  furnished  little  room. 

I  beg  your  highness  will  consider  the  little  garden, 
and  the  pavilion  in  it,  which  I  have  just  mentioned, 
as  your  own,  until  the  ship  which  you  expect  arrives. 
You  can  make  your  excursions  in  the  mountain  when 
you  like.  With  you,  you  can  bring  two  or  three  of 
the  gentlemen  of  your  suite,  and  these  can  make  room 
for  others  in  their  turn.  Only,  I  hope  that  the  baron 
and  Count  Gaiety,  as  I  call  him  (for,  according  to 
what  the  doctor  tells  me,  during  all  your  misfortunes 
he  has  always  preserved  his  cheerfulness),  will  not 
come  both  together,  because  I  have  got  a  great  deal 
to  say  to  each.  Thus,  then,  I  shall  expect  your  royal 
highness  on  Saturday  evening. 

i  Stone  seats  placed  against  the  wall. 


4o4  LADY    HESTER    STANHOPE 

I  have  the  honour  to  salute  you,  prince,  with  the 
most  perfect  esteem  and  highest  consideration,  begging 
you  to  accept,  with  your  known  nobleness,  the  welcome 
of  the  dervise, 

H.  L.  STANHOPE. 


Lady  Hester  Stanhope  to  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  Bart. 

PLAIN    SPEAKING 

JOON,  July  20,   1838. 

My  DEAR  BURDETT, — I  am  no  fool,  neither  are  you  ; 
but  you  might  pass  for  one,  if  in  good  earnest  you 
did  not  understand  my  letter.  You  tell  me  what  is 
self-evident — that  I  have  no  right  to  inherit  Colonel 
Needham's  property,  etc.,  neither  has  your  daughter 
any  right  to  inherit  Mr.  Coutts's  property ;  but,  in  all 
probability,  his  wife,  being  aware  that  you  and  your 
family  stood  high  in  his  estimation,  paid  that  com- 
pliment to  his  memory.  Lord  Kilmorey,  who  had 
no  children,  being  aware  of  General  Needham's  par- 
tiality towards  Mr.  Pitt,  might,  by  his  will,  have  allowed 
the  property  to  return  to  the  remaining  branch  of  the 
Pitt  family.  Do  not  be  afraid  that  I  am  going  to 
give  you  any  fresh  trouble  about  this  affair,  notwith- 
standing I  believe  that  you  were  some  time  hatching 
this  stupid  answer  ;  but  I  do  not  owe  you  any  grudge, 
as  I  know  that  it  does  not  come  from  you  :  — I  know 
where  it  comes  from. 

A  lion  of  the  desert,  being  caught  in  the  huntsman's 
net,  called  in  vain  to  the  beasts  of  the  field  to  assist 
him,  and  received  from  them  about  as  shuffling  an 
answer  as  I  have  received  from  you  and  previously 


THE    LION    AND    THE    MOUSE  405 

from    Lord    .     A    little    field-mouse    gnawed    the 

master  knot,  and  called  to  the  lion  to  make  a  great 
effort,  which  burst  the  noose,  and  out  came  the  lion 
stronger  than  ever. 

I  am  now  about  building  up  every  avenue  to  my 
premises,  and  there  shall  wait  with  patience,  immured 
within  the  walls,  till  it  please  God  to  send  me  a  little 
mouse  ;  and  whoever  presumes  to  force  my  retirement, 
by  scaling  my  walls  or  anything  of  the  like,  will  be 
received  by  me  as  Lord  Camelford  would  have  received 
them. 

HESTER  LUCY  STANHOPE. 


HARRIET    BEECHER    STOWE    (1811-1896) 

DAUGHTER  of  a  clergyman,  Dr.  Lyman  Beecher.  She 
was  born  at  Litchfield,  Connecticut,  and  at  the  age  of  21 
removed  to  Cincinnati.  In  1836  she  married  a  teacher, 
Calvin  E.  Stowe,  who  afterwards  became  a  Professor  at 
Bawdoin  College.  Notwithstanding  great  disadvantages, 
she  commenced,  at  the  suggestion  of  her  husband,  a  literary 
career,  which  brought  her  fame  ;  and  by  the  publication  of 
"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  she  greatly  promoted  the  cause  of 
anti-slavery. 

To  Miss  May 1 

A  DAY'S  WORK 

NEW  HAVEN,  CONN.,  June  21,  1838* 

MY  DEAR,  DEAR  GEORGIAN  A, — Only  think  how  long 
it  is  since  I  have  written  to  you,  and  how  changed  I 

1  The  following  letters  of  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe  are  reprinted 
from  her  Life  by  Charles  E.  Stowe,  by  permission  of  Messrs. 
Sampson  Low,  Marston  &  Company,  Ltd. 


406  HARRIET    BEECHER  STOWE 

am  since  then — the  mother  of  three  children  !  Well, 
if  I  have  not  kept  the  reckoning  of  old  times,  let  this 
last  circumstance  prove  my  apology,  for  I  have  been 
hand,  heart,  and  head  full  since  I  saw  you. 

Now,  to-day,  for  example,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  had 
on  my  mind  from  dawn  to  dewy  eve.  In  the  first 
place  I  waked  about  half  after  four  and  thought,  "  Bless 
me,  how  light  it  is  !  I  must  get  out  of  bed  and  rap 
to  wake  up  Mina,  for  breakfast  must  be  had  at  six 
o'clock  this  morning."  So  out  of  bed  I  jump  and 
seize  the  tongs,  and  pound,  pound,  pound  over  poor 
Mina's  sleepy  head,  charitably  allowing  her  about 
half  an  hour  to  get  waked  up  in — that  being  the 
quantum  of  time  that  it  takes  me — or  used  to.  Well, 
then  baby  wakes — qua,  qua,  qua,  so  I  give  him  his 
breakfast,  dozing  meanwhile  and  soliloquising  as  follows  : 
"  Now  I  must  not  forget  to  tell  Mr.  Stowe  about  the 
starch  and  dried  apples  " — doze — "  ah,  um,  dear  me  ! 
Why  doesn't  Mina  get  up  ?  I  don't  hear  her  " — doze — 
"ah,  um — I  wonder  if  Mina  has  soap  enough !  I  think 
there  were  two  bars  left  on  Saturday  " — doze  again — 
I  wake  again.  "  Dear  me,  broad  daylight !  I  must 
get  up  and  go  down  and  see  if  Mina  is  getting  breakfast.'* 
Up  I  jump  and  up  wakes  baby.  "  Now,  little  boy, 
be  good  and  let  mother  dress,  because  she  is  in  a  hurry." 
I  get  my  frock  half  on,  and  baby  by  that  time  has 
kicked  himself  down  off  his  pillow,  and  is  crying  and 
fisting  the  bed-clothes  in  great  order.  I  stop  with 
one  shoe  off  and  one  on  to  settle  matters  with  him. 
Having  planted  him  bolt  upright  and  gone  all  up  and 
down  the  chamber  barefoot  to  get  pillows  and  blankets 
to  prop  him  up,  I  finish  putting  my  frock  on  and  hurry 
down  to  satisfy  myself  by  actual  observation  that  the 


VARIED    DUTIES  407 

breakfast  is  in  progress.  Then  back  I  come  into  the 
nursery,  where,  remembering  that  it  is  washing-day 
and  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  work  to  be  done,  I 
apply  myself  vigorously  to  sweeping,  dusting,  and  the 
setting  to  rights  so  necessary  where  there  are  three 
little  mischiefs  always  pulling  down  as  fast  as  one 
can  put  up. 

Then  there  are  Miss  H and  Miss  E ,  concerning 

whom  Mary  will  furnish  you  with  all  suitable  particulars, 
who  are  chatting,  hallooing,  or  singing  at  the  tops  of 
their  voices,  as  may  suit  their  various  states  of  mind, 
while  the  nurse  is  getting  breakfast  ready.  This  meal 
being  cleared  away,  Mr.  Stowe  dispatched  to  market 
with  various  memoranda  of  provisions,  etc.,  and  the 
baby  being  washed  and  dressed,  I  begin  to  think  what 
next  must  be  done.  I  start  to  cut  out  some  little 
dresses,  have  just  calculated  the  length  and  got  one 
breadth  torn  off  when  Master  Harry  makes  a  doleful 
lip  and  falls  to  crying  with  might  and  main.  I  catch 
him  up  and,  turning  round,  see  one  of  his  sisters  flourishing 
the  things  out  of  my  work-box  in  fine  style.  Moving 
it  away  and  looking  the  other  side,  I  see  the  second 
little  mischief  seated  by  the  hearth  chewing  coals 
and  scraping  up  ashes  with  great  apparent  relish. 
Grandmother  lays  hold  upon  her  and  charitably  offers 
to  endeavour  to  quiet  baby  while  I  go  on  with  my 
work.  I  set  at  it  again,  pick  up  a  dozen  pieces,  measure 
them  once  more  to  see  which  is  the  right  one,  and 
proceed  to  cut  out  some  others,  when  I  see  the  twins 
on  the  point  of  quarrelling  with  each  other.  Number 
one  pushes  number  two  over.  Number  two  screams  : 
that  frightens  the  baby,  and  he  joins  in.  I  call  number 
one  a  naughty  girl,  take  the  persecuted  one  in  my 


408  HARRIET    BEECHER  STOWE 

arms,  and  endeavour  to  comfort  her  by  trotting  to  the 
old  lyric  : 

So  ride  the  gentlefolk, 
And  so  do  we,  so  do  we. 

Meanwhile  number  one  makes  her  way  to  the  slop-jar 
and  forthwith  proceeds  to  wash  her  apron  in  it.  Grand- 
mother catches  her  by  one  shoulder,  drags  her  away, 
and  sets  the  jar  up  out  of  her  reach.  By  and  by  the 
nurse  comes  up  from  her  sweeping.  I  commit  the 
children  to  her,  and  finish  cutting  out  the  frocks. 

But  let  this  suffice,  for  of  such  details  as  these  are  all  my 
days  made  up.  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  am  but  a  mere  drudge 
with  few  ideas  beyond  babies  and  housekeeping.  As  for 
thoughts,  reflections,  and  sentiments,  good  lack !  good  lack ! 

I  suppose  I  am  a  dolefully  uninteresting  person  at 
present,  but  I  hope  I  shall  grow  young  again  one  of 
these  days,  for  it  seems  to  me  matters  cannot  always 
stand  as  they  do  now. 

Well,  Georgy,  this  marriage  is — yes,  I  will  speak 
well  of  it,  after  all ;  for  when  I  can  stop  and  think 
long  enough  to  discriminate  my  head  from  my  heels, 
I  must  say  that  I  think  myself  a  fortunate  woman 
both  in  husband  and  children.  My  children  I  would 
not  change  for  all  the  ease,  leisure,  and  pleasure  that 
I  could  have  without  them.  They  are  money  on  interest, 
whose  value  will  be  constantly  increasing. 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  to  Mrs.  Pollen 

REMINISCENCES 

ANDOVER,  February  16,  1853. 

MY  DEAR  MADAM, — I  hasten  to  reply  to  your  letter, 
to  me  the  more  interesting  that  I  have  long  been  ac- 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY  409 

quainted  with  you,  and  during  all  the  nursery  part  of 
my  life  made  daily  use  of  your  poems  for  children. 

I  used  to  think  sometimes  in  those  days  that  I  would 
write  to  you,  and  tell  you  how  much  I  was  obliged  to 
you  for  the  pleasure  which  they  gave  us  all. 

So  you  want  to  know  something  about  what  sort 
of  woman  I  am  !  Well,  if  this  is  any  object,  you  shall 
have  statistics  free  of  charge.  To  begin,  then,  I  am 
a  little  bit  of  a  woman — somewhat  more  than  forty, 
about  as  thin  and  dry  as  a  pinch  of  snuff  ;  never  very 
much  to  look  at  in  my  best  days,  and  looking  like  a 
used-up  article  now. 

I  was  married  when  I  was  twenty-five  years  old  to 
a  man  rich  in  Greek  and  Hebrew,  Latin  and  Arabic, 
and  alas  !  rich  in  nothing  else.  When  I  went  to  house- 
keeping, my  entire  stock  of  china  for  parlor  and  kitchen 
was  bought  for  eleven  dollars.  That  lasted  very  well 
for  two  years,  till  my  brother  was  married  and  brought 
his  bride  to  visit  me.  I  then  found,  on  review,  that 
I  had  neither  plates  nor  teacups  to  set  a  table  for  my 
father's  family  ;  wherefore  I  thought  it  best  to  reinforce 
the  establishment  by  getting  me  a  tea-set  that  cost 
ten  dollars  more,  and  this,  I  believe,  formed  my  whole 
stock-in-trade  for  some  years. 

But  then  I  was  abundantly  enriched  with  wealth 
of  another  sort. 

I  had  two  little  curly-headed  twin  daughters  to 
begin  with,  and  my  stock  in  this  line  has  gradually 
increased,  till  I  have  been  the  mother  of  seven  children : 
the  most  beautiful  and  the  most  loved  of  whom  lies 
buried  near  my  Cincinnati  residence.  ...  I  allude  to  this 
here  because  I  have  often  felt  that  much  that  is  in 
that  book  ["  Uncle  Tom  "]  had  its  root  in  the  awful 


410  HARRIET    BEECHER   STOWE 

scenes  and  bitter  sorrows  of  that  summer.  It  has 
left  now,  I  trust,  no  trace  on  my  mind,  except  a  deep 
compassion  for  the  sorrowful,  especially  for  mothers 
who  are  separated  from  their  children. 

During  long  years  of  struggling  with  poverty  and 
sickness,  and  a  hot,  debilitating  climate,  my  children 
grew  up  around  me.  The  nursery  and  the  kitchen  were 
my  principal  fields  of  labour.  Some  of  my  friends, 
pitying  my  trials,  copied  and  sent  a  number  of  little 
sketches  from  my  pen  to  certain  liberally  paying 
"  Annuals  "  with  my  name.  With  the  first  money  that 
I  earned  in  this  way  I  bought  a  feather-bed  !  for  as 
I  had  married  into  poverty,  and  without  a  dowry,  and 
as  my  husband  had  only  a  large  library  of  books,  and 
a  great  deal  of  learning,  the  bed  and  pillows  were  thought 
the  most  profitable  investment.  After  this  I  thought 
that  I  had  discovered  the  philosopher's  stone,  so  when 
a  new  carpet  or  mattress  was  going  to  be  needed,  or 
when,  at  the  close  of  the  year,  it  began  to  be  evident 
that  my  family  accounts,  like  poor  Dora's,  "  wouldn't 
add  up,"  then  I  used  to  say  to  my  faithful  friend  and 
factotum,  Anna,  who  shared  all  my  joys  and  sorrows, 
"  No,"  if  you  will  keep  the  babies  and  attend  to  the 
things  in  the  house  for  one  day,  I'll  write  a  piece,  and 
then  we  shall  be  out  of  the  scrape."  So  I  became  an 
author — very  modest,  at  first,  I  do  assure  you,  and 
remonstrating  very  seriously  with  the  friends  who 
had  thought  it  best  to  put  my  name  to  the  pieces  by 
way  of  getting  up  a  reputation  ;  and  if  ever  you  see 
a  woodcut  of  me,  with  an  immoderately  long  nose, 
on  the  cover  of  all  the  U.  S.  Almanacs,  I  wish  you  to 
take  notice,  that  I  have  been  forced  into  it  contrary 
to  my  natural  modesty  by  the  imperative  solicitations 


"UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  "  411 

of  my  dear  five  thousand  friends  and  the  public  generally. 
...  I  suffer  exquisitely  in  writing  these  things.  It 
may  be  truly  said  that  I  write  with  my  heart's  blood. 
Many  times  in  writing  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  I  thought 
my  health  would  fail  utterly  ;  but  I  prayed  earnestly 
that  God  would  help  me  till  I  got  through,  and  still 
I  am  pressed  beyond  measure  and  above  strength. 

This  horror,  this  nightmare  abomination  !  can  it  be 
in  my  country  !  It  lies  like  lead  on  my  heart,  it  shadows 
my  life  with  sorrow  ;  the  more  so  that  I  feel,  as  for 
my  own  brothers,  for  the  South,  and  am  pained  by 
every  horror  I  am  obliged  to  write,  as  one  who  is  forced 
by  some  awful  oath  to  disclose  in  court  some  family 
disgrace.  Many  times  I  have  thought  that  I  must 
die,  and  yet  I  pray  God  that  I  may  live  to  see  some- 
thing done.  I  shall  in  all  probability  be  in  London 
in  May  :  shall  I  see  you  ? 

It  seems  to  me  so  odd  and  dream-like  that  so  many 
persons  desire  to  see  me,  and  now  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  they  will  think,  when  they  do,  that  God  hath 
chosen  "the  weaklings  of  this  world." 

If  I  live  till  spring  I  shall  hope  to  see  Milton's  grave, 
and  Shakespeare's  mulberry-tree,  and  the  good  land  of 
my  fathers, — old,  old,  England  !     May  that  day  come. 
Yours  affectionately, 

H.  B.  STOWE. 


Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  to  her  Husband 

CHARLES    KINGSLEY    AT    HOME 

PARIS,  November  7,  1856. 

MY  DEAR  HUSBAND, — On  the  28th,  when  your  last 
was  written,  I  was  at  Charles  Kingsley's.     It  seemed 


412  HARRIET    BEECHER  STOWE 

odd  enough  to  Mary  and  me  to  find  ourselves,  long 
after  dark,  alone  in  a  hack,  driving  towards  the 
house  of  a  man  whom  we  never  had  seen  (nor  his  wife 
then). 

My  heart  fluttered  as,  after  rumbling  a  long  way 
through  the  dark,  we  turned  into  a  yard.  We  knocked 
at  a  door  and  were  met  in  the  hall  by  a  man  who  stam- 
mers a  little  in  his  speech,  and  whose  inquiry,  "  Is 
this  Mrs.  Stowe  ?  "  was  our  first  positive  introduction. 
Ushered  into  a  large,  pleasant  parlor  lighted  by  a 
coal  fire,  which  flickered  on  comfortable  chairs,  lounges, 
pictures,  statuettes,  and  book-cases,  we  took  a  good 
view  of  him.  He  is  tall,  slender,  with  blue  eyes,  brown 
hair,  and  a  hale,  well-browned  face,  and  somewhat 
loose-jointed  withal.  His  wife  is  a  real  Spanish 
beauty. 

How  we  did  talk  and  go  on  for  three  days  !  I  guess 
he  is  tired.  I'm  sure  we  were.  He  is  a  nervous,  ex- 
citable being,  and  talks  with  head,  shoulders,  arms, 
and  hands,  while  his  hesitance  makes  it  the  harder. 
Of  his  theology  I  will  say  more  some  other  time.  He 
also  has  been  through  the  great  distress,  the  "  Conflict 
of  Ages,"  but  has  come  out  at  a  different  end  from 
Edward,  and  stands  with  John  Foster,  though  with 
more  positiveness  than  he. 

He  laughed  a  good  deal  at  many  stories  I  told  him 
of  father,  and  seemed  delighted  to  hear  about  him. 
But  he  is,  what  I  did  not  expect,  a  zealous  Churchman  ; 
insists  that  the  Church  of  England  is  the  finest  and 
broadest  platform  a  man  can  stand  on,  and  that  the 
Thirty-nine  Articles  are  the  only  ones  he  could  subscribe 
to.  I  told  him  you  thought  them  the  best  summary 
(of  doctrine)  you  knew,  which  pleased  him  greatly. 


VISlfING    THE    KINGSLEY'S  41 3 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  to  her  Husband 

THE    GLAMOUR    OF    ROME 

March  i,   1857. 

MY  DEAR  HUSBAND, — Every  day  is  opening  to  me  a 
new  world  of  wonders  here  in  Italy.  I  have  been  in 
the  Catacombs,  where  I  was  shown  many  memorials 
of  the  primitive  Christians,  and  to-day  we  are  going 
to  the  Vatican.  The  weather  is  sunny  and  beautiful 
beyond  measure,  and  flowers  are  springing  in  the  fields 
on  every  side.  Oh,  my  dear,  how  I  do  long  to  have 
you  here  to  enjoy  what  you  are  so  much  better  fitted 
to  appreciate  than  I — this  wonderful  combination  of 
the  past  and  the  present,  of  what  has  been  and  what  is  ! 

Think  of  strolling  leisurely  through  the  Forum,  of 
seeing  the  very  stones  that  were  laid  in  the  time  of 
the  Republic,  of  rambling  over  the  ruined  Palace  of  the 
Caesars,  of  walking  under  the  Arch  of  Titus,  of  seeing 
the  Dying  Gladiator,  and  whole  ranges  of  rooms 
filled  with  wonders  of  art,  all  in  one  morning  !  All 
this  I  did  on  Saturday,  and  only  wanted  you.  You 
know  so  much  more  and  could  appreciate  so  much 
better.  At  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars,  where  the  very 
dust  is  a  melange  of  exquisite  marbles,  I  saw  for  the 
first  time  an  acanthus  growing,  and  picked  my  first 
leaf. 

Our  little  menage  moves  on  prosperously  ;  the  doctor 
takes  excellent  care  of  us  and  we  of  him.  One  sees 
everybody  here  at  Rome,  John  Bright,  Mrs.  Hemans's 
son,  Mrs.  Gaskell,  etc.,  etc.  Over  five  thousand  English 
travellers  are  said  to  be  here.  Jacob  Abbott  and  wife 
are  coming.  Rome  is  a  world  !  Rome  is  an  astonish- 
ment !  Papal  Rome  is  an  enchantress  !  Old  as  she 


414  HARRIET    BEECHER   STOWE 

is,  she  is  like  Ninon  d'Enclos — the   young  fall  in  love 
with  her. 

You  will  hear  next  from  us  at  Naples. 

Affectionately  yours, 

H.  B.  S. 


Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  to  George  Eliot 

THE    BEAUTIES    OF    FLORIDA 

MANDARIN,  FLORIDA,  May  n,  1872  (Begun  April  4). 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  was  very  glad  to  get  your  dear 
little  note — sorry  to  see  by  it  that  you  are  not  in  your 
full  physical  force.  Owing  to  the  awkwardness  and 
misunderstanding  of  publishers,  I  am  not  reading 
"Middlemarch,"  as  I  expected  to  be,  here  in  these 
orange  shades  :  they  don't  send  it,  and  I  am  too  far 
out  of  the  world  to  get  it.  I  felt,  when  I  read  your 
letters,  how  glad  I  should  be  to  have  you  here  in  our 
Florida  cottage,  in  the  wholly  new,  wild,  woodland 
life.  Though  resembling  Italy  in  climate,  it  is  wholly 
different  in  the  appearance  of  nature — the  plants, 
the  birds,  the  animals,  all  different.  The  green  tidiness 
and  culture  of  England  here  gives  way  to  a  wild  and 
rugged  savageness  of  beauty.  Every  tree  bursts  forth 
with  flowers  ;  wild  vines  and  creepers  execute  delirious 
gambles,  and  weave  and  interweave  in  interminable 
labyrinths.  Yet  here,  in  the  great  sandy  plains  back 
of  our  house,  there  is  a  constant,  wondering  sense  of 
beauty  in  the  wild,  wonderful  growths  of  nature.  First 
of  all,  the  pines — high  as  the  stone-pines  of  Italy — with 
long  leaves,  eighteen  inches  long,  through  which  there 
is  a  constant  dreamy  sound,  as  if  of  dashing  waters. 
The  live-oaks  and  the  water-oaks,  narrow-leaved  ever- 


THE    FLORIDA    COTTAGE  415 

greens,  which  grow  to  enormous  size,  and  whose  branches 
are  draped  with  long  festoons  of  gray  moss.  There 
is  a  great,  wild  park  of  these  trees  back  of  us,  which, 
with  the  dazzling,  varnished  green  of  the  new  spring 
leaves  and  the  swaying  draperty  of  moss,  looks  like 
a  sort  of  enchanted  grotto.  Underneath  grow  up 
hollies  and  ornamental  flowering  shrubs,  and  the  yellow 
jessamine  climbs  into  and  over  everything  with  fragrant 
golden  bells  and  buds,  so  that  sometimes  the  foliage  of 
a  tree  is  wholly  hidden  in  its  embrace. 

This  wild,  wonderful,  bright,  and  vivid  growth,  that 
is  all  new,  strange,  and  unknown  by  name  to  me,  has 
a  charm  for  me.  It  is  the  place  to  forget  the  outside 
world,  and  live  in  one's  self.  And  if  you  were  here, 
we  would  go  together  and  gather  azaleas,  and  white 
lilies,  and  silver  bells,  and  blue  iris.  The  flowers  keep 
me  painting  in  a  sort  of  madness.  I  have  just  finished 
a  picture  of  white  lilies  that  grow  in  the  moist  land 
by  the  watercourses.  I  am  longing  to  begin  on  blue 
iris.  Artist,  poet,  as  you  are  by  nature,  you  ought 
to  see  all  these  things,  and  if  you  would  come  here  I 
would  take  you  in  heart  and  house,  and  you  should 
have  a  little  room  in  our  cottage.  The  history  of  the 
cottage  is  this  :  I  found  a  hut  built  close  to  a  great 
live-oak  twenty-five  feet  in  girth,  and  with  overarching 
boughs  eighty  feet  up  in  the  air,  spreading  like  a  firma- 
ment, and  all  swaying  with  mossy  festoons.  We 
began  to  live  here,  and  gradually  we  improved  the 
hut  by  lath,  plaster,  and  paper.  Then  we  threw  out 
a  wide  veranda  all  round,  for  in  these  regions  the 
veranda  is  the  living-room  of  the  house.  Ours  had 
to  be  built  around  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  so  that  our 
cottage  has  a  peculiar  and  original  air,  and  seems  as 


4i6  HARRIET    BEECHER  STOWE 

if  it  were  half  tree,  or  a  something  that  had  grown 
out  of  the  tree.  We  added  on  parts,  and  have  thrown 
out  gables  and  chambers,  as  a  tree  throws  out  new 
branches,  till  our  cottage  is  like  nobody  else's,  and 
yet  we  settle  into  it  with  real  enjoyment.  There  are 
all  sorts  of  queer  little  rooms  in  it,  and  we  are  accom- 
modating at  this  present  a  family  of  seventeen  souls. 
In  front,  the  beautiful,  grand  St.  John's  stretches  five 
miles  from  shore  to  shore,  and  we  watch  the  steam- 
boats flying  back  and  forth  to  the  great  world  we  are 
out  of.  On  all  sides,  large  orange-trees,  with  their 
dense  shade  and  ever- vivid  green,  shut  out  the  sun, 
so  that  we  can  sit,  and  walk,  and  live  in  the  open  air. 
Our  winter  here  is  only  cool,  bracing,  outdoor  weather 
without  snow.  No  month  without  flowers  blooming 
in  the  open  air,  and  lettuce  and  peas  in  the  garden. 
The  summer  range  is  about  90°,  but  the  sea-breezes 
keep  the  air  delightfully  fresh.  Generally  we  go  north, 
however,  for  three  months  of  summer.  Well,  I  did 
not  mean  to  run  on  about  Florida,  but  the  subject 
runs  away  with  me,  and  I  want  you  to  visit  us  in  spirit 
if  not  personally. 

My  poor  rabbi  ! — he  sends  you  some  Arabic,  which 
I  fear  you  cannot  read  :  on  diablerie  he  is  up  to  his 
ears  in  knowledge,  having  read  all  things  in  all  tongues 
from  the  Talmud  down.  .  .  . 

Ever  lovingly  yours, 

H.  B.  STOWE. 


AGNES   STRICKLAND    (1796-1874) 

DAUGHTER  of  Thomas  Strickland  of   Reydon  Hall,  Suffolk. 
She  began  writing  at  an  early  age,  but  her  best  known  work 


PRESENTATION    AT    COURT  417 

is  "  The  Lives  of  the  Queens  of  England,"  a  book  which  is 
still  a  recognised  authority  on  the  subject.  Her  life  was 
uneventful  and  was  spent  for  the  most  part  at  Southwold 
in  Suffolk. 


To  Miss  Porter  l 

THE    DRAWING-ROOM 

May  28,   1840. 

I  have  not  written  to  you,  my  dearest,  kindest  friend, 
since  the  great  affair  of  my  presentation,  which  was 
beautifully  arranged  for  me  by  the  amiable  Howards, 
Mrs.  Howard  kindly  regretting  that  (she  was  pleased 
to  say)  she  could  not  have  the  gratification  of  presenting 
me  herself,  but  would  consign  me  to  her  venerable 
friend,  Lady  Stourton,  who  was  in  all  respects  one  of 
the  most  distinguished  ladies  I  could  have. 

It  was  an  agitating  but  gratifying  day  ;  and  for- 
tunately I  was  so  little  embarrassed  that  I  absolutely 
forgot,  till  I  felt  the  train  gently  replaced  on  my  arm 
after  I  had  gone  through  the  ceremonial,  nor  was  I 
conscious  of  having  so  many  yards  of  velvet  sweeping 
behind  me.  When  my  name  was  announced  to  her 
Majesty,  she  smiled  and  looked  most  kindly.  Nothing 
could  be  more  gracious  than  her  reception  of  my 
homage. 

Prince  Albert  returned  my  curtsey  with  a  very 
courteous  bow,  and  I  passed  from  the  presence  with 
feelings  of  increased  interest  for  the  royal  pair,  but 
heard  the  most  bitter  and  cruel  remarks  uttered 

1  The  following  letters  of  Miss  Strickland  are  reprinted  from 
her  Life  by  J.  M.  Strickland,  by  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  William 
Blackwood  &  Sons. 

27 


4i8  AGNES    STRICKLAND 

by  some  of  the  ladies  who  had  preceded  me  through 
the  ante-room,  on  what  they  styled  the  ungracious 
and  repulsive  behaviour  of  the  Queen  to  themselves 
and  others.  I  am  sure  she  was  all  sweetness  to  me,  and 
those  who  thought  so  hardly  of  her  had  no  business 
to  intrude  themselves  upon  her  under  the  pretext  of 
paying  their  homage. 

On  Monday  I  attended  the  birthday  Drawing-room, 
and  a  brilliant  scene  it  was.  The  Queen  gave  me  a 
nod  and  smile  of  friendly  recognition  when  the  lord-in- 
waiting  pronounced  my  name.  Nothing  could  be 
more  gracious.  She  seemed  to  understand  my  feelings 
towards  her.  After  all  was  over,  I  joined  the  dear 
Mackinnons  in  the  corridor.  Louisa  Mackinnon  looked 
lovely  in  her  excellently  fancied  dress,  and  is  really 
one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  unaffected  girls  I  know. 
You  would  have  liked  to  see  me  in  my  Court  costume — 
violet  velvet,  lined  with  primrose,  over  Brussels  lace 
and  white  satin  ;  and  from  the  absence  of  trimming 
and  frippery,  my  nice  historical  dress  cost  less  than 
many  of  the  butterfly  costumes  round  me.  It  was 
very  suitable  for  the  occasion,  and  will  be  useful. 

You  will,  I  know,  rejoice  to  hear  that  I  have  had 
one  of  the  most  gratifying  notes  in  the  world  from 
Guizot,  the  French  ambassador,  on  "  The  Lives  of  the 
Queens."  He  has,  besides,  allowed  me  to  quote  this 
proud  testimonial  to  the  work  in  the  Introduction  to 
the  third  volume. 

Most  ardently  do  I  hope  we  may  meet  in  town.  I 
rejoice  to  hear  you  are  daily  improving  in  health  ; 
and  believe  me  ever,  with  much  love,  your  affectionate 
friend, 

AGNES  STRICKLAND. 


"LIVES    OF    THE    QUEENS1*  419 

Agnes  Strickland  to  her  Mother 

A    SCOTCH    WEDDING 

[1846.] 

.  .  .  The  bridal  was  a  beautiful  scene,  and  very 
interesting.  Constance  Crauford,  my  dear  mother, 
being  a  very  superior  and  charming  young  woman, 
behaved  with  equal  good  sense  and  good  feeling.  On 
the  eventful  morning  she  took  her  usual  seat  at  the 
breakfast-table  and  poured  out  the  coffee  as  calmly 
as  if  nothing  remarkable  was  to  take  place  that  day. 

At  two  o'clock  all  the  ladies  staying  at  the  castle 
took  a  hasty  lunch  with  Mrs.  Crauford  in  her  bed- 
chamber, as  all  the  other  rooms  were  required  for  the 
preparations.  At  three  we  assembled  in  full  dress  in 
the  drawing-room.  As  none  but  the  bride  and  her 
maiden  train  were  to  be  robed  in  white,  I  wore  a  blue 
satin  dress  with  white  lace  robings,  Lady  Adelaide 
Hastings  a  rose-coloured  striped  glace  silk — indeed  we 
were  the  only  gay  butterflies,  excepting  the  bride's- 
maids.  There  were  two  ceremonies — a  white -robed 
Hymen  and  a  black  one — the  bridegroom  being  an 
Episcopalian,  while  the  bride,  her  parents,  and  brother 
were  Presbyterians.  So,  after  Dr.  Buchanan  of  the 
Free  Church  had  declared  Mr.  Fairlee  and  Constance 
man  and  wife,  the  bridal  party  went  into  the  library, 
where  the  Episcopal  minister  from  Ayr  was  to  unite 
the  bride  and  bridegroom's  hands  according  to  the 
rites  of  the  Anglican  Church,  having  brought  with  him 
surplice,  scarf,  hood,  and  licence  for  the  important 
occasion.  He  went  through  his  office  rather  sulkily, 
to  my  regret.  As  soon  as  the  white-robed  Hymen 
had  concluded  the  ceremony,  we  all  returned  to  the 


420  AGNES    STRICKLAND 

drawing-room,  when  the  bridegroom's  best-man  cut 
the  wedding-cake,  and  we  all  drew  for  three  oracular 
prizes  attached  to  the  bouquets  of  orange-blossoms 
that  adorned  it.  These  comprised  a  ring,  a  sixpence, 
and  a  thimble.  The  latter,  which  indicated  a  life  of 
single  blessedness,  was  drawn  by  the  handsomest 
bachelor  present,  Mr.  Burnet,  laird  of  Gadsgarth. 
After  this  fun  was  over,  the  bride's-maids  pinned  on 
the  elegant  favours,  and  by  that  time  the  dinner  was 
announced,  which  was  served  in  the  spacious  ban- 
queting hall — a  dinner  that  bonnie  King  Jamie  would 
have  rejoiced  to  see.  The  bride  sat  by  the  side  of 
the  newly  wedded  husband,  looking  a  perfect  picture 
in  her  splendid  veil  and  virgin  white  ;  and  the  sunbeams 
pouring  through  the  painted-glass  windows  gave  a 
beautiful  effect  to  the  scene.  Two  bands  stationed 
without  played  the  lively  Scotch  air,  "  Wooed  an' 
married  an'  a'." 

At  eight  the  bride  retired  to  change  her  dress,  and 
having  kissed  all  the  ladies,  was  led  to  her  carriage 
by  the  bridegroom,  whereupon  Lady  Adelaide  Hastings 
and  I,  with  the  six  bride 's-maidens,  flung  each  an  old 
white-satin  shoe  after  it  for  good  luck.  At  the  park 
gates  a  shower  of  old  shoes  of  humbler  pretensions 
flew  round  the  carriage  in  all  directions,  flung  by  the 
cottars  and  their  children.  As  for  the  politer  white- 
satin  shoes,  they  were  eagerly  collected  by  the  spectators 
as  memorials  of  Miss  Crauford's  wedding-day. 

Our  festivities  were  to  conclude  with  a  ball  given 
to  the  tenantry  and  retainers  in  the  great  barn,  which 
was  to  be  lighted  up  and  decorated  for  the  occasion. 
At  ten  o'clock  the  bride' s-maids,  and  her  son,  Captain 
Reginald  Crauford,  conducted  us  through  the  woods 


THE    SCOTCH    REEL  421 

to  the  festive  scene.  The  barn,  with  the  arms  and 
crest  of  the  Crauford  family  wrought  in  flowers  in  the 
roof,  and  hung  with  evergreens,  rather  resembled 
a  baronial  castle  than  what  it  was,  being  splendidly 
illuminated,  and  really  made  a  fine  ballroom. 

We  were  all  expected  to  dance,  and  Captain  Crauford 
set  us  a  very  good  example  by  capering  unweariedly 
with  the  lassies,  who  testified  their  good  sense  of  the 
young  laird's  condescension  in  choosing  them  by  very 
reverential  curtseys.  He  certainly,  in  his  young,  pretty 
partners,  was  better  off  than  we  poor  ladies  were. 
My  partner  was  an  old  man  named  Jemmy  White, 
a  very  indefatigable  dancer,  who  insisted  that  I  should 
dance  a  reel  with  him,  at  the  same  time  giving  me  an 
encouraging  pat  on  the  shoulder,  as  if  I  had  been  a 
little  child,  telling  me  "  I  was  a  bonnie  lassie,  and 
should  do  as  well  as  ony  o'  them."  I  wish  you  could 
have  seen  me  footing  it  away  with  my  droll  old  man,  and 
a  beau  garcon  for  my  alternate  man.  Well,  my  partner 
was  so  proud  and  elated  with  having  got  me,  that  he 
chose  to  change  the  reel  into  a  polka  by  turning  me  round 
and  round  till  I  was  out  of  breath  with  laughing. 

Miss  Maxwell  and  Miss  Cunninghame  got  partners  of 

the  same  grade  ;  only  my  old  man  begged  me  not  "  to 

leave  with  my  Lady  Crauford,  as  there  would  be  more 

fun  going  on  after  her  departure."    However,  we  had  had 

enough  of  it,  and  departed  with  our  amiable  hostess  at 

twelve,  leaving  Captain  Crauford  to  conclude  the  revel. 

The  following  morning  I  took  leave  of  Craufordland 

Castle   and   my   dear   friends   for   the   kind   Homes   of 

Avontoun  House,  where  your  next  letter  will  find  me. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

AGNES  STRICKLAND. 


422  AGNES    STRICKLAND 

Agnes  Strickland  to  her  Sister,  Jane  Strickland 

HOLIDAY-MAKING 

LENNOXLOVE,  1852. 

MY  DEAR  JANE, — .  .  .  I  have  been  leading  a  merry  life 
here  with  dear  Georgina  Stuart  in  these  old  halls  during 
what  she  calls  her  bachelor  regime.  On  Friday  last 
we  all  set  out  on  a  real  expedition  in  the  elegant  phaeton. 
I  confess  I  rather  trembled  when  I  saw  the  reins  in 
the  delicate  hands  of  my  fair  companion,  who  drove 
a  spirited  pair  of  spanking  chesnuts  over  mountain 
and  lea,  to  say  nothing  of  deep  glens  and  ravines.  To 
be  sure,  we  had  the  groom  in  the  rumble  ;  but  then  he, 
as  well  as  ourselves,  might  have  been  smashed  in  a 
moment  if  the  carriage  in  turning  sharp  corners  swung 
us  over  a  rock  or  soused  us  into  a  rushing  river.  How- 
ever, the  fair  Georgina  had  undertaken  nothing  but 
what  she  was  fully  equal  to.  Unfortunately,  there 
was  no  one  to  see  the  grand  swell  we  made — she  being 
the  loveliest  and  most  elegant  young  woman  I  ever 
saw  ;  and  so  affectionate  and  sweet  in  her  manners. 

Our  first  halt  was  at  her  uncle  Sir  Patrick  Stuart's, 
where  we  lunched,  and  feasted  on  strawberries  and 
cream.  Then  we  proceeded  to  Yester,  the  seat  of  the 
Marquis  of  Tweeddale,  and  there  the  young  ladies  of 
the  family  and  a  bevy  of  noble  damsels  were  to  meet 
us  by  appointment  at  the  Goblin's  Cave.  Georgina 
resigned  the  reins  to  the  groom,  and  we  proceeded  on 
foot  to  the  eyrie  whereon  the  magic-built  castle  sits 
in  her  lonely,  ruined  majesty  so  embosomed  in  thick 
woods  that  we  could  not  see  its  ivy-mantled  keep  and 
turrets  till  we  were  under  the  walls.  The  Goblin's 
Cave  is  at  the  foot  of  the  ruins,  just  above  a  brawling 


MAKING    PORRIDGE  423 

little  stream  called  the  Tyne.  Lady  Jane  Hay  frightened 
one  of  her  guests  by  hiding  behind  a  rock  and  bouncing 
out  upon  her  to  personate  the  Goblin. 

The  ladies  were  disappointed  that  I  would  not  go 
into  the  cave,  Lady  Jane  and  Lady  Emily  Hay  having 
kindly  brought  with  them  tapers  and  lucifer-matches 
to  guide  my  steps  therein  ;  but  there  was  a  phalanx 
of  tall  nettles  to  storm,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  endanger 
the  virgin  whiteness  of  my  bonnet,  so  I  contented  myself 
with  examining  the  localities. 

When  we  descended  the  wooded  steep,  Lady  Jane 
Hay  volunteered  to  drive  me  through  the  beautiful 
grounds,  while  Georgina  with  Lady  Julia  and  the  rest 
of  the  party  walked.  I  like  Lady  Jane  very  much 
indeed. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  we  lunched  with  Sir  George  and  Lady 
Susan  Suttie.  A  lovely  drive  among  the  mountains  of 
North  Berwick  Law,  and  were  feasted  and  made  much 
of  by  the  amiable  family.  Lady  Susan  sang  sweetly 
Scotch  songs  to  please  me,  and  though  it  poured  with 
rain,  the  girls  insisted  on  my  going  to  the  porridge- 
making.  I  made  some  demurs  on  account  of  my  blue 
damask  dress,  but  Miss  Suttie  lent  me  a  linsey-woolsey 
skirt,  and  provided  Georgina  with  another.  So  we 
left  our  gala  dresses  behind,  and  got  into  Lady  Susan's 
low  phaeton  ;  and  the  youngest  child,  a  pet  named 
Kitty,  sat  on  a  low  stool  in  front  to  drive  us  and  her 
mamma.  The  rain  ceased  before  we  arrived  at  the 
farm,  where  the  manufacture  of  the  porridge  was  to 
take  place. 

Little  Kitty  would  help  old  Jenny  Lamb  to  make 
the  porridge.  Twelve  gallons  of  water,  to  which  four 
pecks  of  Scotch  meal  were  added,  formed  the  simple 


424  AGNES    STRICKLAND 

receipt — Kitty  with  her  own  hands  pouring  the  meal 
into  the  copper,  while  old  Jenny  actively  stirred  the 
mixture.  Lady  Susan  seated  herself  quietly  on  an 
ale-stool,  while  we  stood  round  to  see  the  process. 
Presently  they  shouted  that  it  was  done,  and  old  Jenny 
quenched  the  fire,  lest  the  porridge  should  burn.  Then 
it  was  divided  into  fifteen  single  messes  and  seven 
double  ones,  and  ladled  into  very  clean  little  wooden 
stoups  for  the  shearers'  suppers,  who  had  also  a  great 
"  bap  "  or  roll  to  eat  with  their  mess.  One  stoup 
was  reserved  for  our  own  use.  So  we  all  adjourned 
to  the  pretty  little  parlour  to  eat  porridge  and  cream, 
which  was  dainty  fare  ;  and  then  Lady  Susan  and  I 
re-entered  the  phaeton,  with  our  little  black-eyed  fairy 
to  drive  us  all  around  the  rocks,  which  rise  a  mighty 
range  of  battlements  to  shut  in  the  gardens  and  house 
plantations.  We  had  tea  and  coffee  on  our  return, 
and,  after  restoring  our  borrowed  garments  to  their 
rightful  owners,  bade  adieu  to  their  kind  family  with 
regret. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  beautiful  Lennoxlove  is,  or 
how  glorious  the  harvest.  It  is  the  garden  of  Scotland. 
Thank  the  dear  mother  for  her  pretty  note.  And  with 
love  to  her  and  yourself,  ever  affectionately  yours, 

AGNES  STRICKLAND. 


Agnes  Strickland  to  her  Mother 

KING    EDWARD    VII. 

September  12,   1861. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — .  .  .  I  was  presented  last  night 
at  the  ball  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  by  General  Bruce, 


THE    ROYAL    CIRCLE  425 

though  it  seems  this  was  not  according  to  etiquette — 
only  his  Royal  Highness  wished  for  the  introduction. 
He  was  very  gracious,  thanked  me  for  having  sent 
him  my  books,  "  which,"  he  said,  "  had  afforded  him 
much  pleasure,"  though,  speaking  of  the  Bachelor 
Kings,  he  assured  me  "  he  did  not  mean  to  be  one." 

In  person  he  is  really  a  very  pretty  fellow,  small 
in  stature,  but  very  well-shaped,  and  dignified  in  ap- 
pearance, though  timid  in  manner.  His  eyes,  eyebrows, 
and  hair  are  really  beautiful ;  he  has  a  handsome, 
well-cut,  aquiline  nose,  full  lips,  beautiful  teeth,  and 
an  agreeable  smile.  He  blushed,  and  was  a  little 
agitated  while  speaking  with  me.  He  danced  un- 
weariedly  and  very  elegantly,  though  the  height  and 
fulness  of  some  of  his  partners  nearly  eclipsed  him. 


Agnes  Strickland  to  her  Sister,  Jane  Strickland 

QUEEN    ALEXANDRA 

1863-4- 

...  I  had  a  capital  view  of  the  Princess  of  Wales 
while  three  ladies  who  preceded  me  were  making  their 
curtseys.  She  is  very  pretty,  graceful,  and  intellectual 
in  appearance,  smaller  than  the  Queen,  but  fairy-like 
and  exquisitely  proportioned.  She  wore  a  white  silk 
skirt,  with  deep  lace  tunics,  with  red  lilac  aerophane 
to  set  them  out,  a  train  of  the  same  colour,  and  a  dia- 
mond necklace  and  tiara.  She  looked  very  royal  and 
girlish  too.  She  gave  me  a  very  gracious  bow  ;  so 
did  the  Prince  of  Wales,  who  is  very  handsome,  though 
short  in  stature.  He  must  have  been  very  proud  of 
his  beautiful  wife.  Prince  Alfred,  who  stood  by  him, 


426  ANNA    JAMESON 

is  a  head  taller,  and  dark.  Princess  Helena  and  Princess 
Mary  of  Cambridge  were  there,  the  latter  not  looking 
her  best. 


ANNA   JAMESON    (1794-1860) 

ELDEST  daughter  of  Brownell  Murphy.  She  wrote  several 
books,  chiefly  on  art  criticism,  her  best  known  work  being 
"  Sacred  and  Legendary  Art."  Mrs.  Jameson  was  a  much- 
valued  friend  and  correspondent  of  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning. 


To  Catherine  Sedgwick  l 

THE   TENDRILS    OF   LIFE 

BALING,  October  10,  1849. 

MY  DEAREST  CATHERINE, — As  I  was  returning  home 
yesterday  in  the  railway  train  from  Derbyshire,  I 
was  thinking  of  you,  and  that  I  must  and  should  write 
to  you  forthwith  ;  and  lo  !  as  I  was  walking  up  the 
road  homewards  I  met  the  postman,  who  touched 
his  hat,  and  put  a  letter  into  my  hand — yours  by  Mrs. 
Follen,  but  dated  so  long  ago,  July,  and  this  is  October. 
As  I  was  devouring  the  lines  by  the  imperfect  light, 
I  had  nearly  been  run  over  by  a  stage-coach.  I  had 
heard  of  Mrs.  Pollen's  arrival,  and  only  waited  her 
arrival  in  town  to  hold  out  my  arms  to  her.  Yes, 
I  remember  her  well ;  and,  for  her  own  sake  and  for 
yours,  I  shall  be  charmed  to  see  her  again.  How  I 
feel  sometimes  the  want  of  a  residence  in  town,  the 

1  This  letter  is  reprinted  from  Mrs.  Macpherson's  "  Memoir  of 
Anna  Jameson,"  by  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  Longmans,  Green 
&  Co. 


AGE    AND    YOUTH  427 

want  of  a  home  to  which  I  could  welcome  my  friends  ! 
This  little  cell  in  my  mother's  cottage  is  a  sort  of  nest 
which  just  holds  my  books  and  me  ;  and  though  Words- 
worth talks  of  books  having  tendrils  strong  as  flesh  and 
blood,  I  feel  often  all  the  difference  ;  but  not,  I  believe, 
on  consideration,  that  it  is  we  who  have  the  tendrils 
and  twine  round  our  books.  But,  in  any  case,  mine 
don't,  except  about  very  few  :  yours,  perhaps — books 
which  are  not  mere  books.  How  is  it  with  you  ?  With 
me  it  is  as  if  the  roots  of  my  life  and  its  tendrils  too 
grew  stronger  as  I  grew  older,  and  social  life  is  becoming 
more  necessary  to  me  just  as  my  power  of  commanding 
it  is  lessened  ;  but  we  must  do  the  best  we  can.  Is 
there  no  hope  of  your  coming  to  England — none,  not 
even  in  the  far  future  ?  But  at  least  you  can  write  a 
little  oftener  ;  and  so  can  I  for  that  matter.  Your 
last  I  received  on  April  4.  I  don't  know  how  often 
I  have  written  to  you  since. 

But  I  have  not  yet  told  you  something  in  which  you 
will  sympathise  with  me  truly.  My  niece  Gerardine 
was  married  on  September  4  to  Robert  Macpherson, 
an  artist  by  profession,  of  a  good  Highland  family,  and 
a  good,  kind,  honest-hearted  man.  I  was  against  the 
union  at  first ;  but  what  seemed  a  sudden  rash  fancy 
on  both  sides  became  respectable  from  its  constancy. 
I  am  glad  now  that  I  yielded.  She  may  probably  have 
to  suffer :  there  will  be  a  struggle  with  the  world  ;  but 
at  least  the  natural  life  will  have  flowed  in  its  healthy, 
natural  course,  and  the  trials  which  come  will  mature, 
and  will  not  embitter,  the  character.  I  hold  to  the 
right  of  every  human  being  to  work  out  their  own  sal- 
vation ;  and  the  old  have  a  right  to  advise,  but  no 
right  to  prescribe  an  existence  to  the  young.  So  Geddie 


428  ANNA    JAMESON 

has  married  the  man  whom  she  preferred  from  the 
first  moment  she  saw  him,  and  as  yet  they  are  enchanted 
with  each  other.  They  are  now  in  Scotland,  residing 
among  his  friends  and  relations,  and  they  return  to 
Rome,  which  will  be  their  residence  for  some  years, 
in  about  three  weeks.  Then  I  lose  my  child,  poor 
little  thing ;  and  the  present  state  of  Italy  makes 
me  anxious,  but  he  understands  his  position,  the  place, 
and  the  people ;  and  I  hope  the  best.  Probably  I 
shall  be  in  Italy  myself  next  year.  .  .  . 

Do  you  know  Mrs.  Browning,  who  was  Elizabeth 
Barrett,  the  poetess  ?  I  have  had  a  charming  letter 
from  her.  Think  of  the  poor  invalid  being  the  mother 
of  a  fine  boy  !  .  .  .  I  don't,  and  won't  admire  Jenny 
Lind,  whose  success  has  been  of  a  kind  to  make  all 
such  triumphs  ridiculous.  She  is  an  accomplished 
singer,  and  second-rate  actress  ;  we  have  had  so  many 
better  !  Of  my  dear  friend  Lady  Byron,  I  can  only 
say  that  she  is  rather  better  than  she  was  a  month  ago. 
It  is  a  hopeless  state  of  invalidism,  but  such  a  tenacity 
of  life  that  I  do  not  give  way  to  terror  about  her  now, 
as  I  used  to  do.  .  .  . 

Ever,  dearest  Catherine, 

Your  affectionate  friend. 


FANNY   KEMBLE    (1809-1893) 

DAUGHTER  of  John  Philip  Kemble,  the  great  actor;  made 
her  debut  at  Covent  Garden  in  1829  as  Juliet.  She  was  a 
great  success,  and  for  three  years  played  in  London.  In 
1832  she  went  to  America  and  married  Mr.  Butler,  a  planter. 
Later  she  returned  to  England,  and  engaged  in  literary  and 
dramatic  work. 


FANNY  KEMBLE 
(MRS.  BUTLER) 

From  a  lithograph,  after  a  drawing 
by   Sir  Thomas    Lawrence,  P.R.A, 


P- 428] 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING      429 


To 


PRIVILEGES    OF    CHILDHOOD 
HARLEY  STREET,  LONDON,  Sunday,  December  26,   1841. 

DEAR  HARRIET, — I  must  tell  you  a  droll  little  incident 
that  occurred  the  day  of  our  leaving  Bowood.     As  I 

was   crossing  the  great  hall,   holding  little   F by 

the  hand,  Lord  Lansdowne  and  Moore,  who  were 
talking  at  the  other  end,  came  towards  me,  and,  while 
the  former  expressed  kind  regrets  for  our  departure, 
Moore  took  up  the  child  and  kissed  her,  and  set  her 
down  again,  when  she  clutched  hold  of  my  gown, 
and  trotted  silently  out  of  the  hall  by  my  side.  As 
the  great  red  door  closed  behind  us,  on  our  way  to 
my  rooms,  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  I  thought  indicated 
some  stifled  sense  of  offended  dignity,  "  Pray,  mamma, 
who  was  that  little  gentleman  ?  " 

Now,  Harriet,  though  Moore's  fame  is  great,  his 
stature  is  little,  and  my  belief  is  that  my  three-year-old 
daughter  was  suffering  under  an  impression  that  she 
had  been  taken  a  liberty  with  by  some  enterprising 
schoolboy.  Oh,  Harriet !  think  if  one  of  his  own  Irish 
rosebuds  of  sixteen  had  received  that  poet's  kiss,  how 
long  it  would  have  been  before  she  would  have  washed 
that  side  of  her  face  !  I  believe  if  he  had  bestowed 
it  upon  me,  I  would  have  kept  mine  from  water  for 
its  sake,  till  bedtime.  Indeed,  when  first  "  Lalla 
Rookh  "  came  out  I  think  I  might  have  made  a  little 
circle  on  that  cheek,  and  dedicated  it  to  Tom  Moore 
and  dirt  for  ever  ;  that  is — till  I  forgot  all  about  it, 

1  This  and  the  three  following  letters  are  reprinted  from  "  Records 
of  a  Later  Life,"  by  Frances  A.  Kemble,  by  kind  permission  of 
Messrs.  Macmillau  &  Co.,  Ltd. 


430  FANNY    KEMBLE 

and  my  habit  of  plunging  my  face  into  water  whenever 
I  dress  got  the  better  of  my  finer  feelings.  But,  you 
see,  he  didn't  kiss  my  stupid  little  child's  intelligent 
mother,  and  this  is  the  way  that  fool  Fortune  mis- 
bestow^s  her  favours.  She  is  spiteful,  too,  that  whirlgigg 
woman  with  the  wheel.  I  am  not  an  autograph  collector, 
of  course  ;  if  I  was  I  shouldn't  have  got  the  prize  I 
received  yesterday,  when  Rogers,  after  mending  a 
pen  for  me,  and  tenderly  caressing  the  nib  of  it  with 
a  knife  as  sharp  as  his  own  tongue,  wrote,  in  his  beautiful, 
delicate,  fine  hand,  by  way  of  trying  it: 

The  path  of  sorrow,  and  that  path  alone, 
Leads  to  the  land  where  sorrow  is  unknown. 

Is  that  a  quotation  from  himself  or  some  one  else  ? 
or  was  it  an  impromptu  ? — a  seer's  vision,  and  friend's 
warning  ?  Chi  sa  ?  .  .  . 

Ever  yours, 

FANNY. 


Fanny  Kemble  to  Harriet 


A    PRESENTATION    AT    COURT 

HARLEY  STREET,  May  i,   1842. 

MY  DEAREST  HARRIET, — .  .  .  You  ask  about  my  going 
to  the  Drawing-room,  which  happened  thus  :  the 
Duke  of  Rutland  dined  some  little  time  ago  at  the 
Palace,  and  speaking  of  the  late  party  at  Belvoir,  men- 
tioned me,  when  the  Queen  asked  why  I  didn't  have 
myself  presented.  The  duke  called  the  next  day 
at  our  house,  but  we  did  not  see  him,  and  he  being 
obliged  to  go  out  of  town,  left  a  message  for  me  with 


FANNY  KEMBLE  AT  COURT     431 

Lady  Londonderry,  to  the  effect  that  her  Majesty's 
interest  about  me  (curiosity  would  have  been  the  more 
exact  word,  I  suspect)  rendered  it  imperative  that 
I  should  go  to  the  Drawing-room ;  and  indeed, 
Lady  Londonderry's  authoritative  "  Of  course  you'll 
go,"  given  in  her  most  gracious  manner,  left  me  no 
doubt  whatever  as  to  my  duty  in  that  respect, 
especially  as  the  message  duly  delivered  by  her  was 
followed  up  by  a  letter  from  the  duke,  from  Newmarket, 
who,  from  the  midst  of  his  bets,  handicaps,  sweepstakes, 
and  cups,  wrote  me  over  again  all  that  he  had  bid  the 
marchioness  tell  me.  Wherefore,  having  no  objection 
whatever  to  go  to  Court  (except,  indeed,  the  expense 
of  my  dress,  the  idea  of  which  caused  me  no  slight 
trepidation,  as  I  had  already  exceeded  my  year's  allow- 
ance), I  referred  the  matter  to  my  supreme  authority ; 
and  it  being  settled  that  I  was  to  go,  I  ordered  my 
tail,  and  my  top,  train,  and  feathers,  and  went.  And 
this  is  the  whole  story,  with  this  postscript,  that,  not 
owning  a  single  diamond,  I  hired  a  handsome  set  for 
the  occasion  from  Abud  and  Collingwood,  every  single 
stone  of  which  darted  a  sharp  point  of  nervous  anxiety 
into  my  brain  and  bosom  the  whole  time  I  wore  them.  .  . 
I  suffered  agonies  of  nervousness,  and,  I  rather 
think,  did  all  sorts  of  awkward  things  ;  but  so,  I  dare 
say,  do  other  people  in  the  same  predicament,  and 
I  did  not  trouble  my  head  much  about  my  various 
mis-performances.  One  thing,  however,  I  can  tell 
you,  if  her  Majesty  has  seen  me,  I  have  not  seen  her  ; 
and  should  be  quite  excusable  in  cutting  her  wherever 
I  met  her.  "  A  cat  may  look  at  a  king,"  it  is  said  ; 
but  how  about  looking  at  the  Queen  ?  In  great  un- 
certainty of  mind  on  this  point,  I  did  not  look  at  my 


432  FANNY    KEMBLE 

sovereign  lady.  I  kissed  a  soft,  white  hand,  which 
I  believe  was  hers  ;  I  saw  a  pair  of  very  handsome 
legs,  in  very  fine  silk  stockings,  which  I  am  convinced 
were  not  hers,  but  am  inclined  to  attribute  to  Prince 
Albert,  and  this  is  all  I  perceived  of  the  whole  royal 
family  of  England,  for  I  made  a  sweeping  curtsey  to 
the  "  good  remainders  of  the  Court,"  and  came  away 
with  no  impression  but  that  of  a  crowded  mass  of 
full-dressed  confusion,  and  neither  know  how  I  got  in 
or  out  of  it.  ... 

Yours  ever, 

FANNY. 


Fanny  Kemble  to 

CHARACTERISTICS    OF   MACREADY 

KING  STREET,  Wednesday,  23,  1840. 

The  staircase  I  have  to  go  up  to  my  dressing-room 
at  the  Princess's  Theatre  is  one  with  which  you  are 
unacquainted,  my  dearest  Hal,  for  it  is  quite  in  another 
part  of  the  house,  beyond  the  green-room,  and  before 
you  come  to  the  stage.  .  .  .  Not  only  had  I  this  incon- 
venient distance  and  height  to  go,  but  the  dressing- 
room  appointed  for  me  had  not  even  a  fireplace  in 
it ;  at  this  I  remonstrated,  and  am  now  accommodated 
decently  in  a  room  with  a  fire,  though  in  the  same 
inconvenient  position  as  regards  the  stage.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Maddox  assured  me  that  Macready  poisoned  every 
place  he  went  into,  to  such  a  degree,  with  musk  and 
perfumes,  that  if  he  were  to  give  up  his  room  to  me, 
I  should  not  be  able  to  breathe  in  it.  With  my  passion 
for  perfumes,  this,  however,  did  not  appear  to  me  so 


ACTING    WITH    MACREADY  433 

certain  ;  but  the  room  I  now  have  answers  my  purpose 
quite  well  enough.  .  .  . 

Macready  is  not  pleasant  to  act  with,  as  he  keeps 
no  specific  time  for  his  exits  or  entrances,  comes  on 
while  one  is  in  the  middle  of  a  soliloquy,  and  goes 
off  while  one  is  in  the  middle  of  a  speech  to  him.  He 
growls  and  prowls,  and  roams  and  foams,  about  the 
stage  in  every  direction,  like  a  tiger  in  his  cage,  so  that 
I  never  know  on  what  side  of  me  he  means  to  be  ; 
and  keeps  up  a  perpetual  snarling  and  grumbling  like 
the  aforesaid  tiger,  so  that  I  never  feel  quite  sure  that 
he  has  done,  and  that  it  is  my  turn  to  speak.  I  do 
not  think  fifty  pounds  a  night  would  hire  me  to  play 
another  engagement  with  him  ;  but  I  only  say,  I 
don't  think — fifty  pounds  a  night  is  a  consideration, 
four  times  a  week,  and  I  have  not  forgotten  the  French 
proverb,  "  //  nc  faut  pas  dire,  fontaine,  jamais  de  ton 
eaii  je  ne  boirai." 

I  do  not  know  how  Desdemona  might  have  affected 
me  under  other  circumstances,  but  my  only  feeling 
about  acting  it  with  Mr.  Macready  is  dread  of  his 
personal  violence.  I  quail  at  the  idea  of  his  laying 
hold  of  me  in  those  terrible,  passionate  scenes  ;  for 
in  Macbeth  he  pinched  me  black  and  blue,  and 
almost  tore  the  point  lace  from  my  head.  I  am  sure 
my  little  finger  will  be  rebroken,  and  as  for  that  smother- 
ing in  bed,  "  Heaven  have  mercy  upon  me  !  "  as  poor 
Desdemona  says.  If  that  foolish  creature  wouldn't 
persist  in  talking  long  after  she  has  been  smothered 
and  stabbed  to  death,  one  might  escape  by  the  off 
side  of  the  bed,  and  leave  the  bolster  to  be  questioned 
by  Emilia,  and  apostrophised  by  Othello  ;  but  she 
will  uplift  her  testimony  after  death  to  her  husband's 

28 


434  FANNY    KEMBLE 

amiable  treatment  of  her,  and  even  the  bolster  wouldn't 
be  stupid  enough  for  that. 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  what  a  witness  to  Othello's 
agony  in  murdering  his  wretched  wife  his  inefficient 
clumsiness  in  the  process  was — his  half-smothering, 
his  half-stabbing  her  ?  That  man  not  to  be  able  to  kill 
that  woman  outright,  with  one  hand  on  her  throat,  or 
one  stroke  of  his  dagger.  How  tortured  he  must  have 
been,  to  have  bungled  so  at  his  work  ! 

I  wish  I  was  with  you  and  Dorothy  at  St.  Leonards 
instead  of  struggling  here  for  my  life — livelihood,  at 
any  rate — with  Macready ;  but  that's  foolish.  He 
can't  touch  me  to-night,  that's  one  comfort,  for  I  am 
Queen  Katherine. 

Farewell,  believe  me, 

Ever  yours  most  respectfully, 

FANNY. 


Fanny  Kemble  to 


MACREADY   AGAIN 

KING  STREET,  Friday,  February  25,  1845. 
DEAR  HAL, —  ...  I  got  through  Desdemona  very 
well,  as  far  as  my  personal  safety  was  concerned  ;  for 
though  I  fell  on  the  stage  in  real  hysterics  at  the  end 
of  one  of  those  horrible  scenes  with  Othello,  Macready 
was  more  considerate  than  I  had  expected,  did  not 
rebreak  my  little  finger,  and  did  not  really  smother  me  in 
bed.  I  played  the  part  fairly  well,  and  wish  you  had 
seen  it.  I  was  tolerably  satisfied  with  it  myself,  which, 
you  know,  I  am  not  often,  with  my  own  theatrical 
performances.  ...  I  really  believe  Macready  cannot 
help  being  as  odious  as  he  is  on  the  stage.  He  very 


REALISM    IN    ACTING  435 

nearly  made  me  faint  last  night  in  Macbeth  with 
crushing  my  broken  finger,  and,  by  way  of  apology, 
merely  coolly  observed  that  he  really  could  not  answer 
for  himself  in  such  a  scene,  and  that  I  ought  to  wear  a 
splint ;  and  truly,  if  I  act  much  more  with  him,  I  think 
I  shall  require  several  splints,  for  several  broken  limbs. 
I  have  been  rehearsing  Hamlet  with  him  this  morning 
for  three  hours.  I  do  not  mind  his  tiresome  particu- 
larity on  the  stage,  for,  though  it  all  goes  to  making 
himself  the  only  object  of  everything  and  everybody, 
he  works  very  hard,  and  is  zealous,  and  conscientious, 
and  laborious  in  his  duty,  which  is  a  merit  in  itself. 
But  I  think  it  is  rather  mean  (as  the  children  say)  of 
him  to  refuse  to  act  in  such  plays  as  King  John, 
Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  which  are  pieces  of  his 
own  too,  to  oblige  me  ;  whilst  I  have  studied  expressly 
for  him,  Desdemona,  Ophelia,  Cordelia,  parts  quite  out 
of  my  line,  merely  that  his  plays  may  be  strengthened 
by  rny  name.  Moreover,  he  has  not  scrupled  to  ask 
me  to  study  new  parts,  in  new  plays  which  have  been 
either  written  expressly  only  for  him,  or  cut  down  to 
suit  his  peculiar  requisitions.  This,  however,  I  have 
declined  doing.  Anything  of  Shakespeare's  is  good 
enough,  and  too  good,  for  me.  ...  I  shall  have  a  nausea 
of  fright  till  after  I  have  done  singing  in  Ophelia 
to-morrow  night. 

Ever  yours, 

FANNY. 

ELIZABETH   BARRETT  BROWNING   (1806-1861) 

WAS  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Moulton  Barrett,  a  wealthy  West 
India  planter.  Although  a  great  invalid,  she  attained 
wide  recognition  as  a  poetess,  and  among  those  who  were 


436       ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING 

attracted  by  her  work  was  Robert  Browning.  She  after- 
wards married  him  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  her  father, 
with  whom  she  was  never  reconciled.  She  continued  to  write 
after  her  marriage,  which  was  a  singularly  happy  one.  Mrs. 
Browning  was  no  less  celebrated  as  a  letter-writer  than  a 
poetess. 

To  Leigh  Hunt 
ON  "AURORA  LEIGH" 

BAGNI  DI  LUCCA,  October  6,   1857. 

DEAR  FRIEND, — I  will  say,  for  I  feel  it  must  be  some- 
thing as  good  as  friendship  that  can  forgive  and  under- 
stand this  silence,  so  much  like  the  veriest  human  kind 
of  ingratitude.  When  I  look  back  and  think — all  this 
time  after  that  letter,  and  not  a  sign  made — I  wonder. 
Yet  if  you  knew  !  First  of  all,  we  were  silent  because 
we  waited  for  information  which  you  seemed  to  desire. 
.  .  .  Then  there  wrere  sadder  reasons.  Poor  Aurora, 
that  you  were  so  more  than  kind  to  (oh,  how  can  I  think 
of  it  ?),  has  been  steeped  in  tears,  and  some  of  them  of 
a  very  bitter  sort.  Your  letter  was  addressed  to  my 
husband,  you  knowing  by  your  delicate,  true  instinct 
where  your  praise  would  give  most  pleasure ;  but  I ' 
believe  Robert  had  not  the  heart  to  write  when  I  felt 
that  I  should  not  have  the  spirits  to  add  a  word  in  the 
proper  key.  When  we  came  here  from  Florence  a  few 
months  ago  to  get  repose  and  cheerfulness  from  the 
sight  of  the  mountains,  we  said  to  ourselves  that  we 
would  speak  to  you  at  ease — instead  of  which  the  word 
was  taken  from  our  own  mouth,  and  we  have  done  little 
but  sit  by  sickbeds  and  meditate  dn  gastric  fevers.  So 
disturbed  we  have  been — so  sad  !  our  darling,  precious 
child  the  last  victim.  To  see  him  lying  still  on  his 


"AURORA    LEIGH"  437 

golden  curls,  with  cheeks  too  scarlet  to  suit  the  poor, 
patient  eyes,  looking  so  frightfully  like  an  angel  !  It 
was  very  hard.  But  this  is  over,  I  do  thank  God,  and 
we  are  on  the  point  of  carrying  back  our  treasure  with 
us  to  Florence  to-morrow,  quite  recovered,  if  a  little 
thinner  and  weaker,  and  the  young  voice  as  merry  as 
ever.  You  are  aAvare  that  that  child  I  am  more  proud 
of  than  twenty  A  uroras,  even  after  Leigh  Hunt  has  praised 
them.  He  is  eight  years  old,  has  never  been  "  crammed," 
but  reads  English,  Italian,  French,  German,  and  plays 
the  piano — then,  is  the  sweetest  child  !  sweeter  than  he 
looks.  When  he  was  ill  he  said  to  me,  "  You  pet  !  don't 
be  unhappy  about  me.  Think  it's  a  boy  in  the  street, 
and  be  a  little  sorry  but  not  unhappy."  Who  could  not 
be  unhappy,  I  wonder. 

I  never  saw  your  book  called  "The  Religion  of  the 
Heart."  It's  the  only  book  of  yours  I  never  saw,  and  I 
mean  to  wipe  out  that  reproach  on  the  soonest  day 
possible.  I  receive  more  dogmas,  perhaps  (my  ' '  perhaps  ' ' 
being  in  the  dark  rather),  than  you  do.  I  believe  in  the 
divinity  of  Jesus  Christ  in  the  intensest  sense — that  He 
was  God  absolutely.  But  for  the  rest,  I  am  very  un- 
orthodox— about  the  Spirit,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil ; 
and  if  you  would  not  let  me  sit  by  you,  a  great  many 
Churchmen  wouldn't ;  in  fact,  churches  do  all  of  them, 
as  at  present  constituted,  seem  too  narrow  and  low  to 
hold  true  Christianity  in  its  proximate  developments. 
I,  at  least,  cannot  help  believing  them  so. 

My  dear  friend,  can  we  dare,  after  our  sins  against 
you — can  we  dare  wish  for  a  letter  from  you  some- 
times ?  Ask,  we  dare  not.  May  God  bless  you.  Even 
if  you  had  not  praised  me  and  made  me  so  grateful,  I 
should  be  grateful  to  you  for  three  things — for  your 


438       ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING 

poetry   (that  first),   then  for  Milton's   hair,    and   then 
for  the  memory  I  have  of  our  visit  to  you,  when  you 
sat  in  that  chair  and  spoke  so  mildly  and  deeply  at  once. 
Let  me  be  ever  affectionately  yours, 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


GEORGE  ELIOT  (Mary  Ann  Evans)  (1819-1880) 

WAS  born  at  Arbury  Farm,  near  Nuneaton,  the  youngest 
daughter  of  Robert  Evans.  Her  earliest  literary  work 
consisted  of  a  translation  of  Strauss's  "  Leben  Jesu."  After 
a  visit  to  Geneva,  she  went  to  London  and  became  a  con- 
tributor to,  and  afterwards  assistant-editor  of  The  Westminster 
Review.  Encouraged  by  her  friend,  George  H.  Lewes,  Miss 
Evans  began  to  write  fiction,  and  her  first  book,  "  Scenes 
of  Clerical  Life  "  (1857),  was  followed  by  "  Adam  Bede  " 
(1859),  which  was  instantly  successful.  Her  subsequent 
novels  "  The  Mill  on  the  Floss  "  (1860),  "  Silas  Marner  " 
(1861),  "  Romola "  (1863),  "Felix  Holt,"  and  "Middle- 
march  "  (1871-2),  all  published  under  her  pseudonym  "George 
Eliot,"  contributed  to  her  fame  as  a  great  writer  of  fiction; 
but  her  later  work  was  less  successful.  In  May  1880  George 
Eliot  married  her  old  friend  Mr.  J.  W.  Cross,  but  her  death 
took  place  a  few  months  later,  in  December  of  the  same 
year. 

To  Madame  Bodichon  *• 

SPANISH   SCENERY 

BARCELONA,  February  2,  1867 

Are  you  astonished  to  see  our  whereabouts  ?  We 
left  Biarritz  for  San  Sebastian,  where  we  stayed  three 

1  Reprinted  from  the  "  Life  and  Letters  of  George  Eliot,"  by 
kind  permission  of  Mr.  J.  W.  Cross,  and  Messrs.  William  Blackwood 
&  Sons. 


GEORGE    ELIOT    IN    SPAIN  439 

days  ;  and  both  there  and  all  our  way  to  Barcelona 
our  life  has  been  a  succession  of  delights.  We  have 
had  perfect  weather,  blue  skies,  and  a  warm  sun.  We 
travelled  from  San  Sebastian  to  Saragossa,  where  we 
passed  two  nights  ;  then  to  Lerida  for  one  night,  and 
yesterday  to  Barcelona.  You  know  the  scenery  from 
San  Sebastian  to  Alsasua,  through  the  lower  Pyrenees, 
because  it  lies  on  the  way  to  Burgos  and  Madrid.  At 
Alsasua  we  turned  off  through  Navarre  into  Aragon, 
seeing  famous  Pampeluna,  looking  as  beautiful  as  it 
did  ages  ago  among  the  grand  hills.  At  Saragossa 
the  scene  was  thoroughly  changed  ;  all  through  Ara- 
gon, as  far  as  we  could  see,  I  should  think  the  country 
resembles  the  highlands  of  Central  Spain.  There  is 
the  most  striking  effect  of  hills,  flanking  the  plain  of 
Saragossa,  I  ever  saw.  They  are  of  palish  clay,  washed 
by  the  rains  into  undulating  forms,  and  some  slight 
herbage  upon  them  makes  the  shadows  of  an  exquisite 
blue. 

These  hills  accompanied  us  in  the  distance  all  the 
way  through  Aragon,  the  snowy  mountains  topping 
them  in  the  far  distance.  The  land  is  all  pale  brown, 
the  numerous  towns  and  villages  just  match  the  land, 
and  so  do  the  sheepfolds,  built  of  mud  or  stone.  The 
herbage  is  all  of  an  ashy  green.  Perhaps  if  I  had 
been  in  Africa  I  should  say,  as  you  do,  that  the  coun- 
try reminded  me  of  Africa  ;  as  it  is,  I  think  of  all  I 
have  read  about  the  East.  The  men  who  look  on 
while  others  work  at  Saragossa  also  seem  to  belong  to 
the  East,  with  a  great  striped  blanket  wrapped  grandly 
round  them,  and  a  kerchief  tied  about  their  hair.  But 
though  Aragon  was  held  by  the  Moors  longer  than  any 
part  of  Northern  Spain,  the  features  and  skins  of  the 


440  GEORGE  ELIOT 

people  seem  to  me  to  bear  less  traces  of  the  mixture 
there  must  have  been  than  one  would  fairly  expect. 
Saragossa  has  a  grand  character  still,  in  spite  of  the 
stucco  with  which  the  people  have  daubed  the  beautiful 
small  brick  of  which  the  houses  are  built.  Here  and 
there  one  sees  a  house  left  undesecrated  by  stucco  ; 
and  all  of  them  have  the  fluted  tiles  and  the  broad 
eaves  beautifully  ornamented.  Again,  one  side  of  the 
old  cathedral  still  shows  the  exquisite  inlaid  work  which, 
in  the  facade,  has  been  overlaid  hideously.  Gradually, 
as  we  left  Aragon  and  entered  Catalonia,  the  face  of 
the  country  changed,  and  we  had  almost  every  sort  of 
beauty  in  succession  ;  last  of  all,  between  Montserrat 
and  Barcelona,  a  perfect  garden,  with  the  richest  red  soil 
— blossoms  on  the  plum  and  cherry  trees,  aloes  thick 
in  the  hedges.  At  present  we  are  waiting  for  the 
Spanish  hardships  to  begin.  Even  at  Lerida,  a  place 
scarcely  at  all  affected  by  foreign  travellers,  we  were 
perfectly  comfortable — and  such  sights  !  The  people 
scattered  on  the  brown  slopes  of  rough  earth  round  the 
fortress — the  women  knitting,  etc.,  the  men  playing  at 
cards,  one  wonderful,  gaudily  dressed  group  ;  another 
of  handsome  gypsies.  We  are  actually  going  by 
steamboat  to  Alicante,  and  from  Alicante  to  Malaga. 
Then  we  mean  to  see  Granada,  Cordova,  and  Seville. 
We  shall  only  stay  here  a  few  days — if  this  weather 
continues. 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI  (1830-1894) 

CHRISTINA  GEORGIAN  A,  was  the  daughter  of  Gabriele  Rossetti, 
a  distinguished  Italian  exile,  and  sister  of  Dante  Gabriel 
Rossetti,  and  Mr.  William  Michael  Rossetti.  She  began  to 
write  verse  while  still  a  child,  but  her  earliest  volume, 


"PORTUGUESE    SONNETS  "  441 

"  Gobelin  Market  and  Other  Poems  "  (1862),  marked  her  as 
a  poetess  of  the  highest  order  and  originality.  In  her  subse- 
quent works  (which  comprise  many  volumes  afterwards 
published  in  a  collected  form)  her  rare  gift  of  expression 
was  developed.  Many  of  her  poems  are  devotional,  but 
every  line  that  she  wrote  shows  the  hand  of  the  true  poetess. 

To  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti l 

THE    DANTE    PICTURE 

30,  TORRINGTON  SQUARE,  W.C.  [September  5,  1881]. 
MY  DEAR  GABRIEL, — We  are  all  congratulant  over  the 
Dante  picture,  Mamma  heading  our  family  phalanx. 
I  do  certainly  think  it  would  have  been  sacrificing  real 
advantage  to  a  mere  punctilio  if  you  had  held  out  about 
its  being  sold  (merely  in  appearance)  from  the  Exhibition. 
It  looks  very  friendly  of  Mr.  Caine  to  have  gone  off  to 
Liverpool  on  purpose  to  see  with  his  own  eyes.  I  am 
much  pleased  with  his  Academy  article,  though  sorry  that 
he  seems  to  have  misapprehended  my  reference  to  the 
"  Portuguese  Sonnets."  Surely  not  only  what  I  meant 
to  say  but  what  I  do  say  is,  not  that  the  Lady  of  those 
sonnets  is  surpassable,  but  that  a  "  Donna  innominata  " 
by  the  same  hand  might  well  have  been  unsurpassable. 
The  Lady  in  question,  as  she  actually  stands,  I  was  not 
regarding  as  an  "  innominata  "  at  all — because  the 
later  type,  according  to  the  traditional  figures  I  had  in 
view,  is  surrounded  by  unlike  circumstances.  I  rather 
wonder  that  no  one  (so  far  as  I 'know)  ever  hit  on  my 
semi-historical  argument  before  for  such  treatment — 
it  seems  to  me  so  full  of  poetic  suggestiveness.  That 
you  praise  it  endorses  its  worth  to  me,  and  I  am  graced 

1  These  letters  of  Miss  Rossetti  are  reprinted  from  her  "  Family 
Letters,"  by  kind  permission  of  Mr.  William  Michael  Rossetti. 


442  CHRISTINA    ROSSETTI 

by  Mr.  Watts 's  approbation.  I  do  not  recall  anything  in 
my  private  [?  previous]  volume  which  foreshadows  the 
"  Ballad  of  Boding  "  ;  but  your  memory  may  well  outdo 
mine.  As  to  the  Sonnet  you  hint  at,  I  cannot  joke  on 
that  subject.  I  am  desirous  of  the  Athenceum  critique, 
and  fancied  it  might  be  out  ere  this ;  but  am  not  im- 
patient. In  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Scotters  sent  me  up  a 
warm  admiring  word  on  "Monna."  .  .  . 

To  get  back  a  moment  to  my  book.  I  cannot  forbear 
adding  how  delighted  I  am  at  the  favourable  verdicts 
on  the  "  Pageant."  /  fancy  it  among  the  best  and  most 
wholesome  things  I  have  produced,  and  I  have  had  a 
quiet  grin  over  October's  remark  which  ushers  in 
November,  as  connecting  it-  with  my  own  brothers  and 
myself  !  Pray  appreciate  the  portrait. — It  dawns  upon 
me  that  "  Sleep  at  Sea  "  is  the  piece  in  your  mind.  I 
hope  the  diversity  is  sufficient  to  justifiy  the  "  Ballad  of 
Boding." 

Surely  you  need  not  restrict  your  affectionate  family 
callers  to  those  moments  when  there  is  something  "  to 
show ' ' ;  but  this  is  merely  an  observation  en  passant. 

With  a  best  of  good  loves  from  our  Mother,  etc. 


Christina  Rossetti  to  William  Michael  Rossetti 

SWINBURNE 

July  26,  1882. 

MY  DEAR  WILLIAM, — Before  I  say  how  delighted 
Mamma  was  with  your  letter  yesterday,  I  will  beg  you 
to  convey  her  thanks  to  Lucy  for  her  previous  one,  which 
was  the  first  to  tell  us  the  good  news  of  your  being  better. 
.  .  .  You  may  think  how  (if  possible)  our  Mother  is 


SWINBURNE  443 

now  more  than  ever  anxious  that  no  imprudence  should 
detract  from  the  well-being  of  her  "  Willie  Wee  " — now 
that  her  four  have  dwindled  to  2.  Everything  you 
narrate  or  can  narrate  of  your  funny  little  five  cheers 
and  interests  her  warm,  grandmotherly  heart.  I  wish 
little  Mary  may  inherit  inward  virtues  even  more  than 
outward  beauty  from  our  fine-natured  and  fine-per- 
sonned  Grandmother  ;  of  whom,  by  the  by,  /  some- 
times reminded  Mamma  in  my  early  days.  .  .  . 

Do  you  remember  how  our  Maria  was  impressed  by  the 
impartiality  of  your  "  Lives  of  Poets  "  ?  Now  I  am  so 
too,  as  well  as  by  the  admirable  lucidity  of  your  style. 
The  facts  would  be  interesting  under  any  treatment,  but 
you  help  instead  of  hindering  readers.  Those  were 
interesting  notes  about  Trelawny  you  lately  contributed 
to  the  Aihenceum,  and  naturally  I  clap  hands  at  your 
review  of  Longfellow. 

Please  give  Lucy  our  two  loves,  and  (if  you  can  get 
through  them)  our  ten  kisses  to  Olive,  Arthur,  Helen, 
Mary,  Michael.  What  a  prostrate  poem  does  Mr. 
Swinburne  address  to  the  twins  !  He  has  kindly  pre- 
sented me  with  his  volume,  a  valued  gift,  and  I 
cannot  forbear  lending  you — more  especially  lending 
Lucy — the  letter  which  accompanied  the  book.  How 
much  I  like  the  Dedications,  both  prose  and  verse. 
This  is  the  fourth  book  he  has  sent  me,  and  I  not  one 
hitherto  to  him — so  for  lack  of  aught  else  I  am  actually 
offering  him  a  "  Called  to  be  Saints/'  merely,  however, 
drawing  his  attention  to  the  verses. 

Mr.  Sharp  has  paid  us  two  visits,  one  this  afternoon, 
all  about  his  book.  Through  Aunt  Charlotte  he  has 
had  access  to  the  "  Girlhood  "  picture,  and  soon  he 
hopes  to  see  what  Miss  Heaton  has  at  Leeds.  I  called 


444  CHRISTINA    ROSSETTI 

his  attention  to  the  window  and  pulpit  at  Scarborough, 
of  which  apparently  he  had  never  even  heard.  He  tells 
us  that  Mr.  Tirebuck  is  sub-editor  of  a  Yorkshire  paper, 
I  forget  the  name.  Some  of  the  Memoir  of  Gabriel  I 
really  admire,  so  I  have  far  from  ended  in  mere  laughter 
at  the  style.  Oh  dear  !  how  willingly  would  I  incur 
Income  Tax  for  the  sake  of  not  murdering  Egyptians 
or  any  one  else  ;  and  our  Mother  would,  I  am  sure, 
double  or  triple  hers  with  the  same  object. 

I  was  forgetting  to  tell  you  that  Mamma  has  lent  Mr. 
Sharp  her  cherished  "  Main's  Sonnet  Book,"  giving  him 
leave  to  have  the  Sonnet  drawing  engraved  for  his  book. 
Mr.  Clarke  considered  that  the  original  could  far  more 
advantageously  be  worked  from  than  could  Mr.  Sharp's 
photograph  of  the  same. 


Printed  by  Hazel!,  Watson  <5r»  Viney,  Ld.,  Lcndon  and  Ayleslttry. 


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197676 


